


Going Down In Flames

by BRNZ



Series: Rise From The Ashes [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Aftermath of Torture, Anathema to the rescue, Angel Wings, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale & Anathema Device Friendship, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale finally fucking says something useful, Aziraphale has Game and Tongue and isnt afraid to use either, Aziraphale learns to use his words, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Be Careful What You Wish For Angel, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley gets whats coming to him, Crowley loses his shit bigtime, Demonic Long Haired Crowley goodness, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FINALLY ITS DONE!!!, Fuck off we are RETIRED, GUYS GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, Gay Panic, Gay Sex, God has something to say and everyone better fucking listen, Hair Kink, Holy Shit these tags are a roller coaster, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Im having a fucking moment here!, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Navel-Gazing, Past Torture, Seduction via hair washing works every time, Seriously!, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Strawberry porn, Too many feels, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Violence, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), long slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-07-12 22:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 36,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19954327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BRNZ/pseuds/BRNZ
Summary: Both Crowley and Aziraphale have massive emotional baggage and issues after their millenia of existence but they deal with it in very different ways.********************************************************************This is a tale of sacrifice, yearning, unrequited love, hope, angst and long scarlet demon tresses. Also SMUT.  Where two Ineffable Idiots *might* finally get their happy ending if they can only......talk to each other.HOW HARD CAN IT BE FFS??Note trigger warnings for torture flashback scenes for Chapter 12 - you can skip it and still retain the essence of the story but its a big part of Crowleys character development.





	1. Theres something in the way you make me feel

**Author's Note:**

> The song is Coronation from Nostalghia (John Wick2 Soundtrack)
> 
> Note this is going to be a longer work for me, I have the beginning and the end of this in my head, and I need to find my way through the middle of it to tell the story the way it needs me too.
> 
> Its going to be dark and heavy for a bit, but it will get better, promise!
> 
> Parts 1 and 2 tell the backstory and lay the character arcs for our Ineffable Idiots, this will make much more sense if you read them first (both only one chap each)

They parted amiably after lunch at the Ritz “Feel like a bit of a nap really” he slouches along, hands in pockets “Might take a few days”.

“Sleep well” replied his Angel, and bustled away, mind already on the job of cataloging the new inventory in the shop, not noticing how quiet the demon had been at lunch.  
  
He hadn’t lied to Aziraphale, he was going to nap. Then he was going to indulge the most epic drinking bender, and he definitely fucking planned for it to last several days.

*************************************************

Aziraphale could lose hours, pottering about in the bookshop when he had a task at hand. Cataloging all the new inventory completely engrossed him for a good couple of days. A rolling boom of thunder startled him out of his concentration ‘thunderstorms in London?’. Opening the door to the shop, staring out across the city at the roiling dark clouds banking up over the city threatened a spectacular storm. ‘A bit unseasonal’ he thinks and chalks it up to global warming, and returns to his books.

The storm takes hours to build slowly, sky getting darker, thunder booming and rolling with menace, now and then the faint purple flicker of lightning dancing against the eyelids. It loomed and lingered, the air tasting metallic, sounds suddenly sharp and echoing oddly.

He blamed the building storm for the odd uncomfortable itch that develops under his skin, just enough to make him restless, shredding his concentration, until he gives up, puts on some Beethoven, sat sipping a whisky and enjoyed the lightshow that the storm was putting on.  
  
The sun had long since given up, and set unseen behind the heavy purpleblack mass of clouds, barometers plummeting across the city. Normally he enjoyed a good storm, so stayed up to enjoy it, but this was different.

His skin…itched, prickled. Fine hairs on the back of his neck lifted, the air seeming to hold a high pitched whine that teased at the edge of his hearing. Thunder shattered the night, with theatrical booms as the lighting blazed ultraviolet…..he could feel the crest rising and all the muscles down his back suddenly contracted in horrific realisation.  
  
This was no natural storm……..

********************************************************

He miracled himself to outside the front door of Crowleys flat, and cautiously touched the handle, waiting for the wards to recognise him. With a mouse skitter of pain over his skin, they breached, lock clicking open and he slowly pressed the door open, pausing at the cacophony of noise that greeted him.  
  
Operatic almost middle eastern electronica, a womans voice soaring like an eagle, high above the melody

 _I feel your breath_  
_I feel something deep in my chest_  
 _There's something in the way you move_  
 _I cannot explain_  
 _I give myself_  
 _To every drop of blood you've taken_  
 _My heart remains the same_  
 _And I'm_  
 _An utter fool_  
 _To give myself to you_

Its opulent, challenging and harrowing, just the thing he thinks Crowley would like, but the music fades into another quieter song and he hears something else that pulls him forward into the dark unlit flat.

_The burning itch under his skin hotter, more urgent, seeking either release or balm, he isn’t sure_

Its hot, impossibly hot in the flat, he stops to remove his jacket, waistcoat, and bow tie, and driven by a feeling he cannot put a name to, his footwear as well. Rolling his sleeves up, treading the too warm stone floor warily, he goes looking for the voice he can hear

 _It sounds like Afrikaans, if that language included guttural clicks, hisses and sounds impossible for a human throat to make._  
  
The words bend in the air, clawing their way into your eardrums, hurting as you hear them.

_You get the impression they snigger, maliciously, deliberately staying just out of reach of your understanding, teasing you with hints of meaning._

The angel is sweating now, loosens his collar even more, treading lightly, cautiously onwards until he turns a corner to a room he has never seen before and stops, arrested by the scene in front of him.  
  
His brain knows that this room is too impossibly large to fit where it is, ceilings several stories high, lost in shadows, bathed in a sickly orange glow from a huge hearth full of hellfire (if the angel was to guess), molten slag that used to be the hearthstones pooling at the feet of the demon standing there.

Crowley stands with his back to the doorway, clad in only sinfully tight black leather pants, black wings out at full extension with the tips dragging on the ground. He is leaning with one hand bracing on the solid granite mantlepiece, and judging by the number of empty whisky bottles littering the floor behind him, he has another one in his left hand.  
  
His hair floats in an unseen breeze, halfway down his back _like the day they watched the Crucifixion together_ uneasy flickering light and shadows from the hellfire play across his shoulders, down his back.

Awful, painful words are being wrenched from his throat, growling and hissing. Aziraphale doesn’t understand Abyssal or Infernal, has no idea what he is saying, he watches the words paint the air a sooty black against the firelight _he sounds angry and yet……almost….pleading_

Crowley raises his wings high, snarling phrase after phrase, hissing spitting, the fine translucent edges of the wing tips seeming to drip red flame.

Aziraphale is utterly awestruck, he has never seen Crowley so primal, so raw. Its transfixing, glorious in its perfect awfulness of how very wrong it feels to see his demon like this, clearly agonised and suffering.

Yet, he has no idea why this is happening, why this is happening now and least of all, absolutely NO IDEA what to do about it.  
  
His heart aches to see his love in so much pain, wanting, needing to take that pain away, with no idea how. Steps quietly forward, one step, two, unnoticed, still in the shadows.

Then the demon does something so unforgivably awful, the angel has no control over his own bone deep instinctive reaction.  
  
Crowley steps back from the fireplace, raises the whisky bottle to his lips, only to find it empty, cursing, throws it into the hellfire, where it explodes in a brief blue flame. He stretches his left wing up high, curving it around his body, reaching out with both hands, clenching both fists around sleek black feathers, he screams something bloodcurdling, and rips the feathers out at the roots.  
  
Horrified, Aziraphale realises that the red dripping from the wingtips is dark heavy blood and without thinking he strides forward and in High Enochian he proclaims

_“Oh my beloved, not this, never this, I forbid thee!_

Silence fills the room, even the hiss of the hellfire is muted (outside the storm has finally broken and rain is lashing the city, hail sheeting the streets in patches, and the whole city inhales in relief as the pressure finally lifts).  
  
Lazily the demon flexes his wings, before tucking them away, turning idly, broken bleeding feathers still clutched in one hand, lifting his gaze to meet the slightly glowing angels

They flinch as their eyes meet, Aziraphale is glowing with a holy blue white glow, and Crowley’s eyes are fully yellow, pupils heavily distended, face filthy with hellfire soot, snarling from a jaw mutilated with far too many curved fangs. He looks alien, dangerous and really fucking pissed off.

Trembling the angel faces him down and they stare at each other for a long moment, until the demon murmurs something that sounds very like the _Oh my beloved_ the angel just uttered, and with a howl that screams like a dozen voices,grating, layering over each other in dissonant harmony, he collapses, shaking, shuddering, sobbing.  
  
With a silent inhalation, hellfire disappears, the room resumes something resembling normal proportions. Its suddenly very dark and bitterly cold.  
  
_In the darkness, a demon cries out his pain and an angel bears witness._


	2. Grace and Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I have a thing about getting the two of them into a bathroom and Crowley *really* has a thing for getting his hair washed.
> 
> Our two ineffable idiots deal with the fallout of Crowley 'having a moment' and Aziraphale makes a commitment to change.
> 
> A journey begins with one step, and both of them have placed a foot on their new path.
> 
> Where will it lead?

As the storm waned, Crowley groaned a shuddering breath _everything fucking hurt, his malformed jaw, every altered vertebrae, where his fingertips had become claws_ the biting cold driving the ache even deeper into his bones, clawing at his flagging energy to try and rise up of the frigid stone floor.  
  
A pair of pale angelic feet softly padded up to him, halting as he snarled “Sshtop, don’touch me” _he flinched at the thought of his angel tainting himself and hunched a little, anticipating the reply._  
  
He wasn’t prepared for the quiet compassion in the angels voice “Of course not dearest, you are clearly in pain, and I would hate to cause you more”.  
  
The angel knelt and offered him a hand “However, if you can bear it, you look like you could do with a hand up…..?”

 _Crowley’s breath hitched as he realised what had happened, there was no way he was going to be able to stand without help, nor would he crawl like the animal he was in front of his angel._  
  
Hating himself, his weakness, anticipating the disgust and recoil from his touch, he reluctantly nodded, reaching out and gripping the waiting hand, hauled carefully upright _clinging on grimly as their joined hands were the only thing keeping him upright._

The angel murmured “Tell me what you need, my dear”, swaying Crowley choked out “Bath, hot. VERY hot” and with a sigh he collapsed, out cold. Anticipating that outcome, Aziraphale smoothly caught him up in a bride carry, tucking the crimson head on his shoulder, folded the long limbs tight against his solid strength and ventured in search of the bathroom.  
  
*****************************************

Aziraphale knew there would be a luxurious, sybaritic bathroom in Crowleys flat, while his hedonistic pleasures were food, Crowleys were warmth, and comfort. Nothing provided the old serpent what he needed more than a good long hot soak.

Murmuring soothing words to the fair maiden in his clasp, he found the right doorway, stopping for a moment to appreciate the room. A glassed in shower easily big enough for an orgy, polished black marble walls glittering with veins of looked like gold and haematite. Pride of place was a huge deep oldfashioned claw footed enamel bath near the middle of the floor, with a freestanding shower mounted on one side. The floor dipped sharply into the drain underneath, clearly designed to take any overflow from the bath.  
  
Had his fair maiden been awake, he would have washed the acrid ozone stink of the hellfire of the both of them first, as it was, he miracled away their clothes and laid Crowley carefully into the steaming half full bath, holding his head and shoulders up, making space for Aziraphale to climb in, snugging the demon hard up against his chest. A moments thought widened and deepened the tub, filling it higher with water, raising the temperature to just under unbearable.  
  
Clasped together they floated, soaking in heat and memories.

Wrung out with stress and the inevitable adrenaline crash, soothed by the water, comforted by the weight of the demon in his arms, Aziraphale drifted into a meditative state. He had briefly reached into the mind of the demon, only so far as to ascertain the state of his injuries and health.  
  
Battered, bruised both inside and out, aching, sore and scraped raw, Crowley was otherwise uninjured, so Aziraphale did what he could to soothe the hurts. Angelic healing didn’t tend to take on demons, but they had lived in each others skin so long, the angel knew that it would help.  
  
_Crowley was bathed in light and warmth, he floated, feeling something it took him a long time to put a word to. He felt …….safe. At peace. Loved._  
  
With a sigh, he left the dream state and woke, momentarily confused, because while the landscape changed, the feelings didn’t. Was he still dreaming?   
  
Slowly he registered his surroundings, his bathroom, his favourite tub (deeper than usual?), chin deep in hot water. His various aches were vastly reduced to a bare reminder of what they were, his puzzlement of that so much, he didn’t realise he wasn’t alone in the tub until a familiar voice murmured “How do you feel?”

Now to be fair, Crowleys cognitive functions had really had a VERY trying day, with him manifesting a storm from sheer will alone, almost opening a portal into Hell, partially transforming, then going into full neural overload. So we will forgive him the fact that the only reply he could muster at this point was “Ngggrk”  
  
He could hear the smile in the angels quiet reply “Fair enough” and a hand reached out of the water, stroking the long crimson hair off his face and pulling it back _it felt marvellous_. Unable to help himself, the demon melted with a “mmmmmmm” into the touch.  
  
The hand resumed its delicious stroking and the demon luxuriated under the touch, too dazed for the long imprinted voice of resistance to be heard over the quite sinful sounds he was unconsciously making.  
  
When the hand stopped, he whimpered and was about to protest further, when the dearly loved voice spoke in his ear “Can I wash your hair, my darling?” his throat went dry with anticipation, leaving him only able to nod, very firmly.

A quiet hand on his shoulder pulled back with the direction “Here, lie back against me more” leaving him stretched out across his angel, head on the pale gleaming sternum.   
  
“Close your eyes, dearest” he complied, and shivered as warm water pours gently over his scalp, over and over, soaking its heat into his very bones. He could lie here like this, forever, being shown such grace and mercy that his heart stuttered and began to beat in an entirely new rhythm.  
  
When the long elegant fingers began working shampoo into his scalp, he just …….. dissolved, existing only for the pleasure and release in what those magical hands were doing.

 _Suddenly he realised just why women got their hair done so frequently, when you are touch starved, lacking any true physical intimacy, even the kindness of a good hair wash and scalp massage could be a small balm to a wounded soul._  
  
More water poured, rinsing away the suds, stroking, stroking, endlessly touching him. A second go with conditioner, this time with both hands giving his scalp a good deep massage _a damn near religious experience!._

When the final rinse was done, his tresses were bundled up, arranged and clasped to keep it tidy.  
  
He couldn’t tell if the fleeting touch on one shoulder was the brush of a fingertip or a kiss.  
  
“Better?”

He nodded lazily, and summoned one word to reply “Much”

“What else do you need?”

“Sleep. Bed. Please” Three words in a row!  
  
“Can you stand up, do you think?”

Crowley pondered with deep intent the very nature of gravity, physics, what upright really meant and came to a profound conclusion “Nope”  
  
“Alright then, sit up a bit will you? I need to get out”

He managed to summon the energy to grip the edges of the bath, which shivered around him and resumed its normal proportions.  
  
Aziraphale leaned down “Put your arms around my neck” wrapping one arm around his back, scooped up his legs, and with one smooth powerful lift, bundled the demon up, miracling them both dry and paced sedately to the bedroom.  
  
_Crowley bit back a giggle at the bridal imagery, he was high on a whole heap of endorphins, seduced by the angels calm expression of physical strength. Aziraphales slightly effete façade made one forget that this being had been a warrior, more than that, his inner strength was adamantium._  
  
Dressed in his favourite satin sleeping pants, the exhausted demon slipped quietly between the black silk sheets, smiled sleepily at the angel tending him with such compassion.  
  
As Aziraphale turned to go, he panicked, reached out to the departing angel, grazing his fingertips down the back of one angelic hand and catching briefly in the curled fingers, which clenched briefly over his before letting go  
  
“Wait!” he said, hating the desperate tremor his voice had developed and flinched away from the pity he knew must be in the others gaze.

Eye still averted, he swallowed on words that suddenly felt like broken glass in his throat.

“Please…….Don’t leave me alone. Not tonight” he swallowed again, expecting to feel the thick hot taste of blood slick down is throat, mildly surprised when he doesn’t.  
  
Aziraphale, now also clad in sleeping pants, turns, steps to the edge of the bed, looking down at the shattered demon avoiding his gaze, and in his calmest tone he said “Look at me Crowley”. It was both a command and request.

His heart wrenched as he watched the inner battle the demon was clearly fighting with himself, and waited, he had made his choice. No more holding back, he didn’t know what the way forward for them was, but he knew that they had to move *beyond* what they were.  
  
So, bravely, the angel who gave away his flaming sword with kindness in his heart waited, and when he had the opportunity, he used his words with careful intent.  
  
And when the demon slowly met his gaze, he smiled in benediction and spoke again in that most calming of tones “Tell me what you need, my dearest”.

He noted that while the demon held his gaze, the expensive sheets bore shredded tears from the two fists clenched in them

“Hold me……Please?”

 _As the sun rose over a weather torn city, streets flooded, broken branches scattered across streets, an angel lay on his back with his arms wrapped around a hellhaired demon, the pair of them enclosed within the cocoon of white iridescent feathers, his wings cradling them both in warmth and safety._  
  
Together they slept, and their dreams were kind.  
  
*************************************************  
  
_I promise you one day_

_I promise you always_  
  
_We will make it out one day_

_I promise you,_  
  
_Always_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lyrics Weekend by The Birthday Massacre


	3. Take This Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two ineffable idiots asleep in each others arms, what could possibly go wrong?
> 
> He stirred, clasped safely in the arms of his love, who murmured, pressing a sleepy kiss against his temple, drifted off again.
> 
> He lay, head pillowed on a shoulder, hearing the slow thud of a heartbeat, matching the pattern of his own….exactly.
> 
> All he could feel when he closed his eyes, breathed in deep and held it, was Love. Deep, unflinching and enduring, for oh so very long.
> 
> Daringly he reached out to trace a wandering finger over those perfect lips, to cup a jawline tenderly, to close his eyes for a moment and imagine.

_He stirred, clasped safely in the arms of his love, who murmured, pressing a sleepy kiss against his temple, drifted off again._  
  
_He lay, head pillowed on a shoulder, hearing the slow thud of a heartbeat, matching the pattern of his own….exactly._

_All he could feel when he closed his eyes, breathed in deep and held it, was Love. Deep, unflinching and enduring, for oh so very long._

_Daringly he reached out to trace a wandering finger over those perfect lips, to cup a jawline tenderly, to close his eyes for a moment and imagine._  
  
Aziraphale returned to consciousness from the first real proper sleep in his long life in slow, reluctant stages. Face down on the bed, one arm tucking the pillow tightly under his head, the other arm awkwardly down his other side. Balanced on the edge of the bed, with one wing piled up in folds on the floor, the other one had something quite magical happening to it.  
  
His brain fuzzed from sleep, it took the angel a while to realise his wing was being quite expertly groomed in a luxurious and frankly quite sinful manner, and without realising he groaned in appreciation, as the fingertips grazed a particularly sensitive area.  
  
With a breathless “Sorry” the fingers disappeared and he groaned in dismay, writhing around til he got his face clear of the pillow to mutter groggily “Feels wonderful, do carry on”.  
  
After a long moment, the stroking continued, a bit slower, a bit deeper, venturing into caress territory. The angel gave up on any pretence of decorum, let his brain light up all its pleasure centers, and *wallowed* in the attention.  
  
_Just as well that I soundproofed the whole flat_  
  
Crowley had slept hard, woken feeling far more refreshed than he knew he deserved to, and had simply lain in wonder of the glory of Aziraphales wings. Over the centuries they had tended to each others when required, but due to the inherent intimacy, both nervewrackingly conscious of not crossing a line, they had dispensed with only the barest minimum of care.  
  
Carefully he had sat up from underneath the warm fragrant blanket of feathers, smiling at the snoring idiot half off the edge of the bed, Crowley then dared do something he had sworn he would never do.  
  
He reached out, and touched his angel. The lure of the feathers was just too damn much, and the memory of what Aziraphale had done for him still lingered. Crowley had not held himself apart from the human race at all, so was well familiar with the comfort and pleasure the touch of others could offer.   
  
It was different with his angel, it was more. More intense, meaningful, special…..more everything. It was everything he had ever wanted and never dared allow himself to hope that it might become a reality. Last night Aziraphale had not judged, criticised or condemned his damnable actions. Instead he gave and gave of his kindness and compassion ………………… and love.  
  
_That realisation necessitated a closing of the eyes, a deep intake of breath and a steadying rub of his face with both hands._  
  
When an angel calls you His Beloved in High Enochian, he really fucking means it.  
  
Mildly regretful he hadn’t decided to have a bit of a temper tantrum earlier, he pondered the events of the night, what had been both said and unsaid.  
  
He felt the foundation of who he was crack and shift, and begin to crumble a bit around the edges. The gaps were birthing up new ideas and possibilities, too new and amorphous to give any real structure to what they might contain. He had the barest dawning realisation that change was an imminent reality, if only he could understand what it might look like.  
  
Finally, biting his lip in concentration, he slowly, oh so gently stroked his hand down the gorgeous white and gold feathers.  
  
_His cautious explorations uncovered that underneath the shining surface, there was a great deal of maintenance works that needed to be done, slowly, so slowly he parted the top layer of flight feathers, and nimble gentle fingers stroked, tweaked and straightened, leaving neatly tidied layers behind._  
  
Even in his deep sleep, the angel had enjoyed the experience, judging from the slight snuffly moans emerging from the pillow, and eventually Crowley had lost himself in the enjoyment of tending to his angel, taking a chaotic mess and leaving a pleasing order in its wake.  
  
His concentration was such that he didn’t notice the angel waking, until a particularly pointed moan resulted from him stroking a little deeper around the tight muscles around a wing joint. If you don’t stretch them properly after a flight, they can be right fucking bastards to warm up again.  
  
Flinching back at causing his angel pain, he breathed an apology, tensing up as the angel writhed underneath him. Braced against retaliation or censure, he wasn’t prepared to be _encouraged to continue_

Slowly he worked harder and deeper, really getting into the tendons and joints, and from the quite frankly, pornographic noises Aziraphale was making, he was only going to be yelled at if he stopped.

So he flexed his aching hands, stretched his fingers, wept silently for a brief moment at the joy of his touch being welcomed, being enjoyed, being requested.

_*************************************************_

Eventually Aziraphale realised that he had shamelessly indulged himself for too long, with a deep sigh of regret, he stretched, both his body and his wings.  
  
Noting with pleasure that the one Crowley had tended so diligently flexed and opened much easier and more comfortably, he allowed one final extension, then tucked them away. He wriggled and slid his way across the huge bed, turned and took both of the demons hands in his, gently pressing a kiss on the back of each and infusing a healing pulse into each, he had felt the pain and the distress, plus had his own memories of hand cramps doing the same task.   
  
“Thankyou dearest, that was truly the most delightful way to wake up I could imagine” He shivered in memory and smiled almost coyly at Crowley before murmuring  
  
“I begin to see why you enjoy sleeping so much”

Gobsmacked, Crowley stared at him, uncertain as to how to respond to some rather confused assumptions, and Aziraphale tugged lightly at the hands he still grasped to catch the demons attention, and let go.

“My turn I believe” and he sat up, stacked several pillows behind him and laid one on his lap, while Crowley wondered what the hell was going on.  
  
Aziraphale laughed at the expression on Crowleys face, and reached out to catch up a long tangled strand of crimson hair  
  
“My darling boy, your hair is an utter disaster” he patted the pillow on his lap gently “Lie down and let me sort it out”

 _Right. Face down in the angels lap._  
  
_Thank fuck for the pillow I guess……_  
  
Cautiously he arranged himself, turned off the necessity to breathe for a while and rather stiffly, lay there while his brain ran in frantic hamster wheel circles, and he struggled not to burst into hysterical laughter.

The turmoil in his brain overwhelmed its inputs for a while, so he didn’t really feel the first featherlight touches at his temple and hairline, but eventually his dopamine receptors took priority, and his brain switched gears.  
  
An urgent rearrangement of face vs pillow became a necessity, because air intake was required to allow his vocal cords to work, and right now, the sounds his were making rivalled the angels for winning the most pornographic sounding.  
  
_As those long clever fingers stroked down the nape of his neck, easing the sub occipitals, stroking in long firm strokes up behind his ears, he writhed._

Far too soon the angel stopped the massage, deftly plaited the glorious hair in a chic French plait, and with a regretful caress down the back of the elegantly sculpted neck, he murmured  
  
“All done, my darling”  
  
With a muffled “ Nnnurgggk” and random wave of one hand, that Aziraphale interpreted (correctly) as “Yeah Im having a moment here, be right with you……..”   
  
Aziraphale slipped out from under the pillow, heading for the bathroom, first clenching tight under long hard blast of cold water, then the angel engaged several of the available jets to various levels of hot, and settled in for a good long wallow.  
  
_Crowley slipped back into a light sleep, smiling slightly. He flinches and shudders for a moment, before relaxing with a deep sigh, sinking into a deeper sleep._  
  
**************************************************  


_So take this night_  
_Wrap it around me like a sheet_  
_I know I'm not forgiven_  
_But I need a place to sleep_  
_So take this night_  
_And lay me down on the street_  
_I know I'm not forgiven_  
_But I hope that I'll be given_  
_Some peace_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End song lyrics are Take This Night by Black Lab


	4. If You Could Read My Mind Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big multi chapter dump, enjoy!

Aziraphale enjoyed a good long hot soak under the shower, finally removing the hellfire residue. Standing under the jets of hot water, he had a good long think about Things. About what had been unsaid by both of them for much too long, what had happened the previous night and what they were going to do about it *now*.  
  
He dressed (having retrieved his clothes from the front room), checked in on the still soundly sleeping demon (tucking the comforter up around the angular shoulders) and bustled out into the day.  
  
While his habit of only opening the store randomly stood him in good stead, he did still have customers, and did quite a lot of trading online. He opened for a few hours, spoke to some of his regulars, made sure his accounts were up to date.  
  
Eventually he shut the shop, and hung up a new sign in the window “Closed until Further Notice for Family Emergency”. He understood enough about human nature to know that they were far more forgiving a personal inconvenience, if there was deeper reason for it. Every word written on the sign was 100% true, had they known it. The angel even remembered to update his Facebook page with a small message as well.   
  
Throughout the day he mentally checked in on Crowley, still sound asleep. The third or fourth time he checked, he murmured to himself “Got plenty of time, he’s not going to wake up til tomorrow at least” and walked several steps before stuttering to a halt.  
  
Suddenly breathless, he found the nearest chair and sat down, hard, breathed deeply a few times to clear his head.  
  
_How did he know that? How could he possibly know that?_

They had always been able to sense each other’s proximity, no matter where they were, there was always a faint hum of awareness of the existence of each other. Aziraphale assumed it was a combination of them both being celestial beings, and simple long exposure to each other.

  
But this……… this certainty of Crowley’s…..current state, for want of a better term.  
  
This was very new.  
  
He sat for a moment, mentally probing the feeling, like a tongue in an empty tooth socket. Just emotion, a feeling of contentment and rest, but temporary.  
  
Aziraphale wondered if the demon was dreaming.  
  
_The longer he concentrated, the stronger the feeling grew and the angel suddenly realised that this was probably a two way link._  
  
With a blink, he let go of the active connection, letting it drop back into his sub conscious. Except, now he was aware, it rubbed a bit, like a new jacket that didn’t quite fit right.

Aziraphale stood “Now, where did I read that passage?” and abandoning his previous tasks, he burrowed into the stacks, pulling out several books, stacking them on his desk, grabbing a notepad and pen, he donned his white gloves and carefully cracked the first one open.  
  
_Several hours later…._

He nursed the last glass of a particularly chunky Bordeaux, he had needed something rich and fortifying to deal with the rising hysteria. Crowley was going to be incandescent with rage.  
  
_The angel shuddered a bit and slugged back the wine, he now had a *much* better understanding of what that could look like, and if he was honest, it was a little frightening._

Regretfully putting down the empty glass, sighed and stood, swaying slightly. Gathering up the books, he carefully put them back on the shelves, folded up the page of notes into his waistcoat pocket, and carried on with his somewhat altered plans.  
  
_Faintly, mid morning the next day, he felt the demon wake up._  
  
****************************************************

Crowley woke feeling truly rested for the first time in a very long time. His sheets still held the vanilla spice sunshine scent of his angel, burying his face deep in one pillow, breathed it in til he felt saturated with it.

_The nightmares in the back of his brain howled frustration, clawing at the edges of his mind, skittering up and down nerves, twitching and plucking._

Eventually he hauled his lazy demon arse out of bed, letting the hot water soak the sleep out of his bones, washing away the bitter hellfire tang that lingered on his skin.  
  
His hair stayed perfectly plaited, just the way the angel had left it.

Throwing on something sharp, he padded barefoot to the kitchen, shoving his favourite mug under the huge complicated coffee machine, waiting while it served him up a perfectly brewed cup. The machine twitched in confusion under the affectionate pat the demon idly offered as he wandered away. It had never been ‘thanked’ before.  
  
Despite his excellent sleep, something itched down the demons spine, a high whine of anxiety nibbled along his nerves, and he paced, unsettled, drinking coffee and staring out over the city through the full length windows in the flat.  
  
Twitching his shoulders to settle them, he frowned _it’s the price you pay for playing with the pain_ He was going to have nightmares for weeks after his drunk dialling into Hell. He always did.  
  
Yet he had slept well for a good couple of days.

Before he had a chance to process that, the wards on the front door flared, and he turned with a lazy smile.

“Hello angel”

******************************************************* _  
_

Aziraphale had waited a couple of hours, tapping the link to check that the demon felt awake before moving himself outside the front door. Firmly he laid a hand on the door handle, braced for the brief scratching of pain on his skin as the wards flexed to let him in.  
  
Crowley looked good, well rested, relaxed, happy to see him, and the angel swallowed a bit before coming forward _seeing each other like this was already going to be awkward after the night they had shared, but this was another level of hell._  
  
He bit back a slightly hysterical giggle and walked to the waiting demon, who was now visibly picking up on the waves of distress the angel knew he was emanating.   
  
He stopped “Crowley…” He paused, closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath.  
  
Dropping the coffee cup on the nearest surface with a clunk, Crowley strode forward “Angel…Aziraphale!!”

Holding a hand up, Aziraphale breathed “Stop, just give me a moment” and the demon halted, vibrating in front of him while the angel struggled to regain his composure, smiled a rather lopsided effort and said completely unironically,  
  
“Crowley, we need to talk”.

Rocking back on his heels, the demon frowned at the angel, pursed his lips, and gestured into the next room “Have a seat. Do you want tea or something stronger?”

This time the answering smile was stronger as the angel seated himself on the severe lines of the black leather sofa that was more comfortable than it looked (it was the only one in existence of that model that was comfortable, because Crowley required that it should be so)  
  
“Actually, my dear, a brandy would be quite lovely”

Startled, Crowley stared at the angel for a long moment, brandy was generally only for special occasions, or moments of deep import. Not lunchtime on a Thursday.

“Brandy’s not your usual lunchtime tipple angel”

A weary sigh in response “Its been a long couple of days”  
  
Shrugging he collected the decanter from the cabinet, and after a moments thought, two cut crystal tumblers, poured generously into both, handed one to the angel before arranging himself at random angles on his end of the sofa.  
  
He tipped his glass in a silent toast, savouring a sip while the angel took a rather fortifying mouthful, flexing tight demonic shoulders while the itchy scratch down his nerves reached a high pitched whine.  
  
“Angel?” a gentle question.  
  
Regretfully Aziraphale put the rest of the brandy down, a clear head was needed for this conversation.  
  
He started cautiously “The other night, will you tell me what that was about?” and as the demon flinched because it was *way* to early to be having this conversation, and he was being too direct, too quickly  
  
“I’m sorry for having to ask, but something happened that night. Something important.”

Clearly uncomfortable, the demon shifted restlessly in his seat, his nerves twanging like broken harpstrings and he flicked a finger and let out one cold hard word.  
  
“Explain”

Aziraphale swallowed, this was even harder than the Holy Water conversation “I can do better than that my dear, I can demonstrate”

Crowley tilted a questioning head, irritation giving way to intrigue “Be my guest”

The angel sighed, suddenly resentful for the whole fucking situation, and said with a bit of a snap “Can you provide a blindfold please?”

Crowley spluttered over a mouthful of brandy and Aziraphale sighed with more temper, waved a hand, a length of heavy black velvet cloth appeared in the demons lap.  
  
“Is this for me or for you?” he asked with a wicked grin and grinned even wider at the very proper “For you please” in reply.  
  
He muttered “very kinky” under his breath but loud enough to be heard from the outraged huff from his angel who responded even more primly “Tie it tight, please, so you can’t see anything”

With a last tug on the knot, the demon relaxed back on the sofa, spreading his arms wide “OK angel, Im all gift wrapped for you, now what?”.

Aziraphale started slowly “You know how we can ‘feel’ each other?” and Crowley nodded   
  
“Course, its how I always find you when you are about to do something stupid”

Aziraphale wondered about the implications of that for a moment before going on “I want you to find that connection, to me, and focus on it”  
  
Crowley nodded again “Then what?”

Aziraphale grabbed the brandy, choked down the fine spirit and said hoarsely “Tell me what you can feel” and mentally he let his walls come down.  
  
Crowley, who had thought this was a bit of a joke but played along to keep his obviously distressed friend happy, didn’t expect what happened next.   
  
His brain twitched, and a deluge of emotions flooded through the link, flickered then steadied. 

_Distress, upset, anxiety comes through strongly, suddenly the irritating scratch at the edges of his mind steadied_

He breathed in shakily then _Love, warm encompassing love, which lingered_ he breathed a little steadier and settled with a hint of a smile _love heated, darkened, coloured itself in shades of red and black desire, coiled in interesting ways_ his breathing shattered again _the red gave way to black, a cold empty echoing black of loneliness and despair so deep_

He sobbed once out loud “Stop!”

He ripped the blindfold off, breathing hard, he stared at the pink cheeked angel “What. And I cannot say this clearly enough. The. Fuck!!!!”

Aziraphale smiled tiredly at him “I am sorry Crowley, but you had to feel it to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Well I have a theory, but I couldn’t find any research to explain everything, but” he shrugged “I don’t think anything like this has ever happened before.”

Crowleys teeth clench with a growl of frustration, throwing himself out of the sofa, pacing the room in urgent strides “Stop fucking dithering and just fucking TELL ME ALREADY!”

“Yes, sorry” Aziraphale licked his lips “When you called the storm the other night, you were obviously really upset”

“You mean when I drunk dialled Hell?”  
  
The angel shifted uncomfortably “Yes, that, well..” He slanted a glance at the pacing demon “Was it about me?….. umm… how you feel about me, um…..us?” and he trailed off.

Arrested in mid stride Crowley slowly turns back to the angel and pauses before shrugging not quite casually at all “Might have been”.

The angel nodded “You pulled a lot of magic that night” and Crowley grinned smugly, it had been a hell of a storm but the grin fell quite off his face at the angels next words,  
  
“I think we Claimed each other” and even Crowley could hear the capital C “Claiming is very rare and something angels would do to …. enhance the connection between a pair, usually”

Dazed at the implications of what that might mean, Crowley sat shakily down on the sofa and gestured for the angel to continue explaining.  
  
“I think the fact we had swapped bodies strengthened the connection we already had. Then you raised a frankly shocking amount of magic, and we both … said things in our true languages”

_The “my beloved” hung like an echo in the air between them_

“Then when you collapsed I took care of you, then you tended my wing the next morning”

_A memory that vibrated, unspoken, layered in feelings_

Aziraphale shrugged “Spells are about power and intent, wrapped in a framework of words, actions or sigils. I think we provided the words, actions and intent by accident, and you raised so much magic, it overloaded the circuits, and ….” He shrugged “Here we are”.  
  
Crowley stared at him in utter shock then with an “Oh Fuck” collapsed laughing on the sofa, laughing so much he slithered onto the floor, tangled limbs gasping for air on the polished concrete floor.

Aziraphale relaxed a bit, he wasn’t expecting this.

Still gasping Crowley pointed an accusing finger at his angel “Are we fucking telepathic then? Mind reading and shit?”

Aziraphale frowned “No I don’t think so, just knowing more specifically how the other is feeling, but” he paused meaningfully “Always aware of it. Like how you knew it was me when I walked in”.

“Oh” was the quiet reply, then he felt a flicker of emotions as the demon processed that, deliberately linking, then a more thoughtful “Oh” _a sudden flicker of heat flared to life_ Crowley shook his head, the flicker died away and with a much more thoughtful “Yes, I see what you mean”.

He reassembled himself on the sofa again, shrugged nonchalantly “Right, what do we do about it then?”

Aziraphale kept a very tight grip on his emotions and played his hand “Do you mean try and fix it, or try and deal with it?”

Crowley looked hard at him for a moment “Its not fixable, is it angel?”

“No, I don’t think so”

“Well then, fucking figure it out, whatever?”

Aziraphale really hated this having to say what he was thinking directly, he had used guile, half hints and suggestions to communicate all his life, but he had made a promise to himself, and his broken demon, so he took the plunge.  
  
“I was thinking, it might be nice to have a change of scenery, go away somewhere quiet, a bit of a holiday?”

Crowley could tell his angel was hiding something, but it was so unlike him to actively suggest something, to request it, that he couldn’t bring himself to argue.  
  
“What did you have in mind?”

The sweetness of the angels smile struck him briefly breathless,

“Well, its been the longest time since I got some regular flying in. Its hard to find somewhere there aren’t any people”.

Crowley smiled a slow grin “I know just the place angel, pack your bags”.

Several phone calls later the demon returned, smirking “Sorted, we’ll leave tomorrow and take the scenic route overnight”.  
  
Then he frowned at the angel “One box of books” and more firmly at the beseeching look “ONE”.

“Where are we going?”

Crowley waved a hand vaguely “Oh, Cornish Coast, thingy”.  



	5. I Go Down Into The Darkness

Predictably there was a stack of boxes waiting in the bookstore the next morning, and they squabbled about it until Crowley had snarled cuttingly  
  
“For Fucks Sake! Change of scene you said? Do something different? Instead of this” angrily he waved a hand at the bookstore “You can always bloody miracle more when we get there”.

Faced with that undeniable logic, the angel felt a bit ashamed, and bit his lip “Yes, sorry, the big one on the top then please”.  
  
Crowley glowered at him, before picking up the box with a put upon sigh, and stowed it in the back seat of the Bentley, where he had left a space.  
  
Both of them were a bit on edge, given everything that had happened since they had stopped Armageddon only days ago, the silence in the car was a bit tense for a while. Crowley was experimenting with Spotify on his phone, trying to foil the Bentley’s habit of picking the music. The demon had a quiet chat with the car before heading to the bookshop, and so far, they appeared to be in accord.  
  
So random music filled the silence, rock, pop, classical, opera, until the distinctive French horn opening sequence on Wagner’s Das Rheingold sounded, and Crowley shuddered convulsively and stabbed at the phone several times until something modern came on.  
  
“Do you object to the man or the music?” queried the angel, speaking for the first time since they set off, they had navigated the worst of the London traffic and were headed roughly west through the suburbs.  
  
Crowley glanced over, but accepted the silent peace offering and responded with hearty bitterness “Both actually. He was a right prat, brilliant but an utter bastard.” He wandered off into memory for a few moments and shifted a bit in his seat “Fucking Ring Cycle”.  
  
Given that it featured an adapted Nordic variation on Heaven and Hell, and falling thereof, Aziraphale could see the distinct lack of appeal for the demon “Far too long and a bit heavy handed on the motif if you ask me. Tristan and Isolde was a far better work”.

“Is this going to end up with you raving on about that Polish guy that no one has ever heard of again?  
  
And with that, they were off, bickering good naturedly, papering over the cracks in their composure with familiar banter, rehashing old comfortable arguments.

***********************************************

They wandered the backroads, Crowley cursing the narrow country lanes with overhanging trees scratching the Bentleys paintwork (they both knew it was never touched). A stop at a quaint village for tea and cream scones, another one for a lingering lunch, and Crowley teased the angel when he complained that they didn’t stop for afternoon tea, a mere hour after he had risen from a substantial lunch.  
  
“That’s a splendid pout angel, are you stocking up for winter or something?”

Releasing the huff and the slouch, Aziraphale turned rather primly to the demon driving with one arm draped casually by the wrist over the top of the steering wheel (he had learned not to comment, or feet would be involved next and *no* hands).

  
“Yes actually I am. Heaven only knows what dining options will be available where we are going”

Crowley smiled at him indulgently “This was your idea, remember?”

“Well yes, but…”

“Spit it out” the demon teased “Been too long since you left the sinful delights of London?”

The angel threw him a glance that didn’t disagree and the demon chortled,

“Don’t worry angel, there will be food fit for kings prepared by the finest chefs if that’s what you want”.

“Really?” the angel sounded both hopeful and dubious.

Pfffft the demon waved a languid hand “Anything you want, angel”

With a thoughtful look on his face the angel sat back in his seat, commenting idly “Where are we staying tonight?”

Crowley shrugged carelessly “Some fancy hotel you liked last time we were in Bath”

Aziraphale thought for a moment “The last time we were in Bath was 1890 something, after you woke up.”

“Mmmm”   
  
The angel remembered a large Georgian house with distinctive lines perched high up in isolation on the hill overlooking the town (as it was then) and said carefully “Im sure its lovely”.

“Better be” said the demon idly “Booked the whole thing out for tonight”.

***********************************************

The hotel was charming, although the staff were somewhat flustered to find only two people turn up for the reservation but Crowley convincingly gave off the impression of an obscenely rich eccentric, used to having his way. With Aziraphale discreetly smoothing over the rough edges, they were installed in the opulent four poster suite with stunning views out over the city.  
  
Champagne in an ice bucket was discretely installed, and they were left to their own devices, the demon pacing twitchily around the room, while the angel stood staring out over the modern city, lost in reverie of what it used to look like.  
  
“Smells a lot better than last time”

With a sad smile the angel turned from the view “I don’t believe they allow bathing in the original baths any more”

“Something about the water?”

 _Their glances crossed, and slid apart uneasily as they both remember their shared bath only a few nights ago._  
  
“Champagne” said the demon brightly “Or a spot of dinner?”

 _He could feel the nervous energy burning off the demon, the staff had assumed and installed both of them in the one room._  
  
“Actually dear boy, after sitting for hours in the Bentley, I would quite like a bit of a wander”.

“Work up an appetite, righto, but the Bentley stays here”

Aziraphale smiled gentle agreement “Of course, my dear. Make an arm will you?” and miracled them into an alleyway he hoped was still there.  
  
They strolled the evening streets, musing on different memories, a table became open at an expensive boutique restaurant and a convivial evening was had.  
  
Crowley hit the brandy pretty hard, swayed alarmingly as the angel returned them to the dark hotel room, catching himself with a giggle on one of the ornately carved bed posts, twisting around until he was sprawled face down, wrong way up on the bed.  
  
Mumbling something like “Mmm stn hrrr” he closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep, soon snuffling little snores into the expensive brocade.  
  
With a sigh, Aziraphale wrapped him in the other half of the brocade coverlet, dressed himself in pyjamas, took out a copy of Elizabeth Barret Browning’s Poems, poured out a glass of champagne, and settled in for the night.  
  
_He understood why Crowley had booked out the whole hotel, when the screaming started._

His presence helped, he could tell. But it took a long time to bring the demon back from the hells inside his mind, and it was a long night for both of them.

****************************************************

Hollow eyed and stretched thin, Crowley grumpily cured his hangover symptoms, downed a big glass of water, lurched ungraciously down to breakfast, sitting hunched over, quietly worshipping the hot coffee warming his hands.

He could feel the distress of the angel and snarled “Turn it down will you, not fucking helping”

A loaded silence, then the nagging ache died away and he sighed in relief, muttering “Sorry”.

A light hand stroked his bowed head and the angel murmured “Not at all dearest, we both need to be aware”.

Another more lingering stroke of his hair, the plait had finally come loose, and he arched into the stroke with a mmmmm.

“I had forgotten how lovely your hair is when its long”.

There was a silent question in that that he sidestepped with a stretch and a yawn, before nodding to the angels plate,  
  
“Finished?”

A dabbing of the lips with a napkin, and the angel rose,   


“Our adventure awaits, of course, lead on, dear boy”.  
  



	6. You and Me and a View of the Sea

They were actually heading for Devon, but Crowley was always a bit vague on the finer points of geography beyond major city names and generally a bit handwavy about the whole ‘where certain countries were’ thing.  
  
When you could blink yourself somewhere you had already been in an instant, it didn’t *really* matter where it was, exactly, did it?

They got lost, a couple of times, and the demon bitched about stopping to ask for directions, but the angel threatened to do something dire to the Bentley’s engine if he didn’t.   
  
Sniping at each other, partially in tiredness, and partially in enjoyment of being able to thoroughly wind each other up, at long last they pulled into the right driveway, and sat for a moment as the Bentley relaxed underneath them.  
  
Wide eyed the angel looked at the demon, who drawled “Yes, we *are* there yet” levered his door open, and stretched, taking in great lungfuls of the salty sea air. The angel took the hint and got out too, slowly spinning in place, taking in the vista.  
  
The house was a large Georgian manor, obviously modernised, a few times over the centuries if Aziraphale was to guess. Pretty cottage gardens and stone paths out front and back, a garage to protect the precious Bentley from the sea winds and a large extension on the back.  
  
Rolling landscape in all directions, he could hear the sea, and they had already glimpsed towering cliffs as they backtracked from a wrong turning. Farmland surrounded them, and the nearest village was a good 20 minutes drive away.  
  
The air felt vibrant, alive, and already he could see it would be a marvellous place to fly. His wings trembled in anticipation.  
  
“Oh my dearest, its perfect! How did you find it?”

Crowley couldn’t help smile wryly at the angels delight, and casually shrugged, turning away to start unloading their stuff out of the car   
  
“Its mine”

The angel was confused “Its yours?”

He put the noticeably heavy box of books down on the shingle and quirked an eyebrow over the dark glasses at the angel and said slowly,  
  
“I own this house. Its mine” and added offhandedly “Pretty much all the farmland around here as well” ducking his head back into the Bentley.  
  
Aziraphale was standing there, with a look of such stuffed indignation that Crowley took pity on him and laughed.  
  
“I did a favour for the King at the time, Richard, John whatever, and they granted me a useless title and a big chunk of land on this peninsula”

He shrugged “Didn’t need the title, but kept the land. Its all leased out, has been for centuries, but I kept the records up, so its all legally mine. Official like”.

He smiled at the angel “Its fucking fantastic flying here”

“I let the house out as a hotel, some agency runs it. But I get it whenever I want it” he shrugged “ Come inside, spent a small fortune modernising it over the years, but it should be up to your standards”.

It was stunning.  
  
Perfect.  
  
******************************************

They unpacked and settled in, Crowley moved both their things into the master bedroom. The house was three stories, with kitchen and dining on the bottom, luxury bedrooms on the first, and smaller attic bedrooms on the top.  
  
They closed off the top floor and the other rooms, chose a cosy living room with a huge gas fireplace as the preferred choice, and then ventured into the startlingly modern shiny kitchen.  
  
The fridges were well stocked, including one full of champagne. There was a large wine cellar, a large games room out the back, and a hot tub on the deck outside.   
  
Crowley explained as he unpacked some meals out of the fridge “Housekeeping comes in every day, cleans, stocks the fridge with everything you need. A local restaurant provides the meals. Isn’t the Ritz but I’m told its pretty good”

Seduced by the shiny appliances Aziraphale ventured timidly “Or we could cook?”

Holding back a wince at the last time he remembered the angel setting fire to some toast absentmindedly he murmured “Anything you want, Angel” and then distracted him by throwing open the booze fridge and querying “What kind of champagne do you want?”

It was luxurious, palatial and perfect. He hadn’t been down for a few years, but the management company were familiar with his requirements. They did very nicely off charging a small fortune for people to stay there, and he had foot the bill for all the upgrades, so if the utterly obscenely rich and very eccentric owner wanted his house back for an undetermined stretch of time, he would have it. Well, they apologised profusely for all the booking cancellations, but what could you do really?  
  
“Oh I almost forgot” he said lightly, pouring out some Krug “The staff come in at 9am sharp, so no wandering round naked, hmmmm”

He smiled at the huffy angel as he handed him the flute full of delicious bubbles.  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Yes. 
> 
> This.
> 
> This is what mouths were made for. 
> 
> No food in existence could taste as sweet or be as satisfying as those lips parting under his. 
> 
> He could gorge himself on dessert forever, yet starve for the want of one single burning kiss.

They settle into a holiday routine, Crowley sleeps late, while the angel doesn’t sleep at all. He makes friends with the mother and daughter pair who provide the cleaning service, chatting away, getting the local gossip.  
  
Trips are taken to the local villages (where they are the source of much local gossip), random wanderings just because they can.

At every possible opportunity, Crowley throws himself into the air, and flies himself into exhaustion. It doesn’t help with the nightmares, which happen too frequently.  
  
The unresolved issues and developing tensions between them are starting to impact their peace. Tempers are short, the demon is drinking himself heavily to sleep each night, which doesn’t stop the nightmares, leaving him even more irritable the next morning.  
  
Aziraphale tries delicately to begin talking about Things, but Crowley has no patience for dancing around the subject, taking to the air to escape.  
  
They go flying together a few times, but Crowley likes to fight against the wind, to challenge it. The angel enjoys acrobatics, but prefers a quieter flying experience.  
  
Try as he might, they seem to be drifting further and further away from each other, its breaking both their hearts, but the angel is too timid and in the demons own hissing words, in the echo of yet another slamming door “I’m *broken* Aziraphale, some things you just can’t fix!”

****************************************************

It turns out Crowley has an Achilles Heel, and the angel mercilessly exploits it at every possible opportunity. The touch starved demon will lie for hours under the angels lightly stroking hands, nearly combusting with delight any time a scalp massage is offered.  
  
He does not ask, he never asks out loud.  
  
It is enough to make Aziraphale hiss with frustration, he thinks to himself “neither of us can say what we want out loud, either to ourselves or each other”. Crowley can only verbally express his feelings when very angry, or drunk, or ideally both. 

_Today is a good day, no nightmares and they are both in a better frame of mind. Yet the angels heart aches, watching the black clad demon wander listlessly about the house, searching for nothing that gives him peace. Certainly not the angel who wants nothing more than to take all his pain away._

_The taut line of jaw clenches, angular shoulders hunching, guiltily Aziraphale clamps down on their link, he tends to forget when he is stressed, bleeding his emotions through. Crowley seems to have better control, the angel really only feels them at moments of extreme tension._

_It wears away at the demons already thin patience, initially he was surly and snappish, now he just slams the door on the way out, clawing himself into the air, to put some distance between them._

Quietly the angel speaks “Crowley” his tone is serious enough, that the demon turns and gives him a long scathing once over before slouching over with a vaguely questioning “What?”

_He doesn’t call him angel in that familiar way so often these days…_

Aziraphale had a whole speech planned out, but realised it was completely the wrong approach. Instead he prepares to ad lib, which given what he is about to say, is utterly terrifying.   
  
_But he needs to say……..something……..to penetrate the shell of misery that surrounds his demon._  
  
“Could you sit for a moment please, I have something I would like to say”.

With a very put upon sigh, Crowley collapses like a puppet with his strings cut into the nearest chair, about as far away from the angel as he can get, and still be in the room. There is a message there, and its not subtle.  
  
_He dithers now on how to start, and the silence stretches for too long, and with a snort of disgust, the demon makes to rise out of the chair, so he just blurts it out,  
  
_“I feel I must apologise to you” _so formal, too formal and he cringes internally, not noticing Crowley sitting back in the chair with a Hnh of surprise, while the angel fidgets with his hands_

A sardonic but slightly curious question emanates from the chair “What are you apologising for, exactly?” and the sarcastic twist he gives the last word rather emphatically implies ‘there are quite a few things you should be apologising for, so which one, mate?’

Nodding his head once, to signify both a palpable hit, and agreement “Very many things I suspect, but there are two, no, three that I specifically want to apologise for”.  
  
“Threeeeee things, oooh this should be good” but its not kind at all, and Aziraphale flushes under the intense scrutiny of the demon, who is deliberately being a bit of a bitch, and enjoying it.

But he made a silent promise in the dark, watching over his beloved, so he bites his lip hard enough to bleed and does the hardest thing of all, and makes eye contact while continuing,  
  
“I am sorry I didn’t trust you when you asked me for Holy Water” his voice shakes but he ignores it “I didn’t understand why you wanted it. The thought of you ….dying… by my hand, well” he swallows “It was more than I could bear”.  
  
He isn’t prepared for what he can see in the demons eyes and glances nervously away, uncertain if he should carry on or wait for a reply. Just as he gathers himself to speak again, Crowley asks in a quiet serious voice “What bothered you the most? The thought of me dying, or you being responsible for it?”

Aziraphale flicks a glance at the demon, who is lounging with more focus and replies with the only truth he has “Losing you would destroy me. Completely. Does it really matter how, in the end?”

_He thinks he hears a whispered Oh Angel_

Shakily he continues, because he has started now, and this is important “Secondly, I need to apologise for not believing in you when I should have”. _Oh this was hard, so hard to actually say out loud_ “I placed all my faith in Heaven, believing in their truths, even when I knew they were wrong. But I didn’t have your strength to allow myself to question. I was afraid of stupid mindless rules”

He lifts his head, and through tears shimmering in his eyes says brokenly “I never saw that you were my constant, you always believed in me, and I should have been brave enough to have placed my faith in you. For that, I will always be deeply sorry.”

Shuddering for control he takes a deep breath before continuing, glassily “But that was not my most grievous sin against you, my dear”

_He smiles the tiniest, most wistful, heartbreaking smile Crowley has ever seen, and something in him lets go and he rises to move over to the angel who is struggling not to come apart_

Aziraphale stands to meet the demon, reaches out to take his hands, raising them to his lips, and placing a kiss of benediction on the back of each before letting go. Crowley reaches out “Angel?”

“No let me finish, please, or I will never be able to do this again”

“Alright, Im listening”

Suddenly aware tears are streaming down his cheeks, the angel dashes them away with the backs of his hands, takes one shuddering breath, then another _use your words angel_ “My most grievous sin is that I allowed my fear to rule my choices and decisions. I blinded myself with fear of everything that didn’t matter, because I was weak.”  
  
Eyes suddenly dry, because this moment, this very moment was the only one that was ever going to matter, he drew himself up and said fiercely “I love you Crowley. I was too afraid to admit it to myself and then I was just simply too afraid of everything” he shrugged “I’m trying really hard to be brave, like you, my dearest, and I hope you can forgive me”.

_In his concentration of trying to say the right words, he had not been paying attention to the link, so the deluge of feelings that came through suddenly surprised him, it felt like wonder, delight, and a long slow burn of something that made him shift restlessly_

Crowley takes a step closer, face to face, breathing each others air, it should be intimate but it feels…combative, challenging

“How do you love me?”

Aziraphale narrows his eyes at the intense yellow ones staring into his “However you want me to, all you have to do is ask?” _he makes it a question, please ask, please tell me all the ways I can love you_

_Some expression he doesn’t recognise flickers across the demons face_

“What ever I ask hmmm?

A burn of temper makes him turn the demons words against him “Anything you want, Crowley, anything”

 _A twist of the sculpted lips in wry acknowledgement but the demon isn’t done_ “So spiritually, existentially, piously” he pauses, drawing it out, he leans in to whisper in one angelic ear, breath hot against the suddenly flushed skin as he says slowly “Carnally?”  
  
_It feels like a long hot tongue lick across his skin and he shivers_

“Boundaries, Consent and Communication” he replied sturdily _he holds back a grin at the surprise widening the eyes of the demon for just a moment, teach him to mess with a Principality_

The moment draws out, tension ratcheting even higher, and the demon moves abruptly, stalking around in a circle _too close too close a predator circling his prey_ before stopping, face to face again and this time the words are biting, cutting  
  
“And what if I asked you to leave me alone, to go away and never come back?”

The angel closed his eyes to hide the flash of pain he knew would be there and stepped back, asking quietly “Where would you have me go?”

_The look of shock on the demons face surprises him, did he truly doubt his sincerity?_

So he takes a chance and says it again, quietly but infuses all the truth he has within him “I love you Crowley, and I am *so* sorry I hurt you by not being brave enough to say it before now”.

_This time the breathy Oh Angel sounded like I Love You too….._

They are still only standing an arms width apart, and the demon slowly raises a hand to gently cup the side of the angels face _they are staring at each other like there is nothing else in existence, the air vibrates like it is alive_

_It feels like the world is holding its breath_

Crowley only has the breath for one tiny pleading helpless word, but it turns out it was enough

“Please….?”

_With infinite tenderness, Aziraphale murmurs Oh My Dearest, presses a kiss into the palm of the hand still cupping his face, stepping forward, rising on tiptoe, running his fingers languidly up the back of the long neck, to cradle the back of the demon’s head, tilt it down so that_

_Oh. Yes._

_This._  
  
This is what mouths were made for. 

_No food in existence could taste as sweet or be as satisfying as those lips parting under his._

_He could gorge himself on dessert forever, yet starve for the want of one single burning kiss._


	8. This Could Be Heaven Or Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my dearest, tell me all the ways in which you could love one such as I, for I believe it impossible

Crowley knew his behaviour was fucking appalling, already strung out on the nightmares and lack of sleep, being able to feel the angels fretting drove him up into the air, seeking…….something.

His bitter roiling anger wasn’t helping, he was angry at so many things, the stupidity of Heaven and Hell for forcing Armageddon, the choices he had been forced to make, the ever present burn of loss deep in his broken soul.

Most bitter of all was the fear that Aziraphale would leave him, knowing that he was damn near guaranteeing it, yet oddly unable to arrest his free fall into disaster.

 _We tried to run, we tried to hide in fear of losing ourselves_  
 _We tried to keep it all inside so we don’t hurt someone else_  
 _When all the demons come alive I’ll still be under your spell_  
 _This could be heaven or hell_  
 _This could be heaven or hell_  
  
_In you I found my only faith_  
 _I lost my halo to your renegade_  
 _This love could bring me to my knees_  
 _Turn it back on me_  
 _Turn it back on me_

Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a psychological reaction to experiencing or witnessing a significantly stressful, traumatic or shocking event. Crowley had suffered endlessly in Hell, but nothing hurt him so much as walking into a burning bookshop, feeling that emptiness in his mind where their connection used to be. What little was left of his soul cried out every time he remembered.  
  
_He could never ever forget_  
  
It kept replaying in the back of his mind, over and over, sleep deprivation winding him tighter and tighter, the dissonant thrum of tension scraping already abraded nerves. He paced, drank and flew until his wings ached, but the only thing that gave him peace was lying still, while the angel stroked and caressed.  
  
_He hated himself for needing it, but he needed it so much more than he hated himself_

Those nights, he slept better. He wanted more of those nights, wanted to ask, to reach out, to give as well as take.

_Oh, he wanted so very many things, but the words broke into shattered cutting edges in his throat, choking. He was a demon, neither capable of or deserving of love, a beast, monstrous._

It was breaking them apart, he couldn’t fix it because first he would have to fix himself, and that, that was the biggest nightmare of all.

_Some things are just too damaged to ever be fixed._

He had accepted that about himself, bound it into his very identity. No matter what shape he made in the Universe, he didn’t fit. Fuck it All to Heaven and Hell, he made his own space, alongside Aziraphale.

Until cruelly, ineffably, he didn’t fit there too. The new link between them unbalanced him even more, it left him feeling incomplete, unworthy. It was chewing him up inside when Aziraphale interrupted his musing self hatred, and he folded himself crudely into the living room chair, waiting impatiently for the angel to yet again ineffectually waffle at him.

The last thing he expected to hear was a stately “I feel I must apologise to you”, so unlike the angel to be direct, so economical with words, surprise kept him in his seat.  
  
He isn’t kind with his reply, and the stark open honesty he receives shakes him to his core. Again and again he questions, Aziraphale faces him down, and apologises, deeply, sincerely, truly.

_Oh Angel_

Compassion for the angel, who is clearly deeply committed, even though its obviously the hardest thing he has ever spoken out loud drives him to his feet, wanting to ease the obvious pain

_He hates himself but he loves Aziraphale more than anything_

Then his angel says the one thing he has existed for 6 millenia to hear, he can feel and hear his heart breaking in that moment, but he is driven to push, to clarify

_Oh my dearest, tell me all the ways in which you could love one such as I, for I believe it impossible_

He should know better than to challenge his angel, he was a Principality, once, a power, and even though his angel doesn’t see it in himself, Crowley is humbled by his strength and resilience. He knows just how hard this must be for Aziraphale, who could never ask a simple straightforward question, perfected the non answer, refined the art of the hint, and deployed the puppy dog eyes with ruinous effect on occasion.

The raw naked honesty he receives devastates him, his angel cannot hide the pain from his last brutal question, and the unflinching acceptance breaks something deep inside the demon.

_Oh Angel_

Daring greatly, because he has no words, hoping a simple honest touch can say so very many things

_Silently he asks and is answered_

“Please….?”

_An entire universe of emotion compressed into one small word_

_His angel is so gentle, so kind to one who deserves none of it, this inevitable ineffable melding of two into one_

_Oh. Yes._

_This._  
  
This is what mouths were made for. 

_No supernova could burn so bright as the two of them. He is burning up, dissolving into gaseous matter, and should he never incorporate again, it would be worth it for that one searing kiss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lyrics Heaven and Hell by Digital Daggers


	9. The Last Good Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get heavy now they are actually talking to each other. Its going to be dark and angsty for a bit, and will be hard for me to write, so please be patient.
> 
> I promise, the pay off will be worth it!

They end up tangled together on the sofa, demon draped inelegantly over the angel, one kiss had become many. With a sigh the crimson haired demon tucked his head under the chin of the tousled blond angel

“I need to apologise to, angel. Been treating you like utter shit, Sorry.”

He shivers as the angel presses a kiss to his temple and murmurs “Forgiven, my love”

_How do you forgive the unforgiveable????_

With an angry Nnnnhh he tries to rise but he meets iron resistance

“Crowley, please, stay” with a sigh he settles, but his mind won’t and he is so focused on battling the voices that never seem to stop, he doesn’t hear quite hear what the angel says next,  
  
“Im worried about you my dear, you seem so very fragile and I can’t reach you” _the tremble in his angels voice will be his undoing_

“I think you have PTSD, Crowley, and I really want to help” another kiss pressed oh so desperately to his temple “Will you let me help?”

OK now he really does need to sit up “Let me up” the cradling arms let go, the angel pulling himself into the corner of the sofa, tucking his legs up to give the demon space.  
  
_Always so aware, so kind, so giving_

Recognising the bravery Aziraphale had shown in speaking out, he decides today he can be a little brave too. Reaching out, he snags the plump angelic ankles and tucks them into his lap with a little pat and a shy smile at his angel “Need to think, not let go. Do that better sitting up”

_The quiet understanding he can feel from the angel steadies him_

“Right. PTSD. I’m listening”

With a long considering look, Aziraphale begins to speak, slowly, carefully. Crowley listens, soon the questions begin to flow, and they talk long into the evening.

Something fundamental changed both within and between them today. It felt like the universe altered its course a tiny amount and that was enough to give them some breathing space, time to regroup.

_The universe did in fact, tilt by a few degrees to the left. Once physicists figured it had happened, no matter how bizarre their theories as to why, no one ever posited that it was the result of the most profound kiss to have ever happened._

******************************************

After a long emotionally stressful day, they retired for an early night. As the angel prepared for his usual nightly ritual of reading next to the sleeping demon, Crowley bit his lip and remembered the words “Anything you want”

Hesitantly he spoke as the angel came freshly washed, minty breathed out of the en suite _realising he probably needed a shower himself_ “Angel?”

“Mmmm” was the distracted reply

“Will you….. Can I….?” he trailed off uncertain until a pair of sympathetic blue eyes met his.  
  
They had talked at length about many things, including very briefly, his issues with asking for, well, anything.  
  
Aziraphale smiled, dove in for a quick kiss _and wasn’t that fucking magical all by itself_ “Say the words dearest, the answer is Yes”

For the first time in a long time, he felt his old irreverent sense of humour back in place and he managed a pretty good facsimile of one his filthier smirks “You have no idea what kind of depraved ideas I might have”

That got him a *very* measuring look from a pair of intense blue eyes so that the casual “True, but as they say, finding out is half the fun” didn’t quite register, and then his brain momentarily switched off.

Breezily the angel ignored him, faffing about before sliding into his side of the bed sans book, flicking back the comforter on the demons side “Coming to bed love?”

_Turns out he didn’t need to ask, after all._

“Shower first”

“Make sure you turn the cold tap off tight dear, or it drips”

_There were no nightmares that night._

******************************************

A good nights sleep, followed by a very pleasant morning makeout session in bed, made for a calmer demon.  
  
Much had been said during quite intense discussions, and there had been the makings of a plan sketched out.

Today they were going to refine it. He watched his angel munch happily on toast and marmalade, which muttering dire imprecations for the creator of the Times Crossword. The paper was delivered daily, much to the amusement of Judith and Lisa, their cleaning staff.

They had taken to cutting out the finished ones and putting on the door of the fridge, delighting in checking the answers. If the angel finished it, he was almost, annoying, always right.

Sipping his coffee, Crowley smiled, wasn’t quite as good as the machine in his flat, but it was still learning proper behaviour. It was still a bit startled to find itself slightly sentient, and today, Crowley had more than a bit of sympathy for it.

He stood in the doorway, basking in the mid morning sunshine, lightly touching the link between himself and his angel _calm concentration, intent, slight hints of worry, strong overtones of hope_

He didn’t deserve this……love…….dedication……commitment.

Aziraphale caught the rise of self loathing, grateful they had talked enough so that he could interpret what he was feeling better, put aside his half done crossword with a surly “I will come back for you later”.

_If it had been a plant it would have quaked and trembled_

He walked to the demon, leaning precariously in the doorframe, wrapped one arm around what waist he could reach and stretched his chin to rest on a black clad shoulder, staring out across the sunny landscape “Nice day, lets go for a walk down to the beach”

He feels the demon heave a sigh, before saying in a voice of infinite doom “Picnic?”

“Oh you read my mind!”

In the end they leave the basket behind, after Crowley irritatingly points out that the beach is *only*5 min walk away, if that, plus its all stones.

Its nice, the two of them, almost back to what they were and yet, much more than before, the promise of what they could become is so close, they can taste it.

It adds a certain spice to their goodnatured banter, neither is a stranger to sex with humans, but after 6000 years of foreplay between them, for want of a better term, its rather likely eventuality suddenly a little overwhelming.

They had both agreed that real progress needed to be made on both their parts, before that final irrevocable step would be taken.

Crowley takes pity on a crabby angel and miracles a dry patch of sand for them to stretch out on, grateful for his sunglasses, he chews on a bit of sea grass while Aziraphale fusses about getting settled.

The demon counts mentally to himself ‘5, 4, 3, 2…..’, smiling to himself when a tartan picnic blanket magically appears on the sand underneath the primly perched angel.  
  
It’s a lovely day, sunny blue sky, just the right amount of breeze, perfect for quiet contemplation and lazy sun dreams. Aziraphale watches the reclining demon fall deeper into sleep, blinks his latest book and a couple of cushions, and the waiting picnic basket to the blanket, and quietly settles down for a pleasant read. Fortunately neither of them have to deal with sunburn, the demon sleeps peacefully for a good couple of hours

*****************************************  
  
Crowley wakes, feeling warm and better rested than he has in a while _I could get used to that feeling,_ he stretches and murmurs “Thirsty”, eyes still closed waves the hand nearest his angel in the air, closes his grip around a chilled bottle slick with condensation that is handed to him.  
  
Levering himself upright on one elbow, he slowly swallows down a good half of the crisp cider in one pull “s’good, thanks”, wedging the bottle in the sand, he flops down again, taking his glasses off and resting a forearm across his eyes to block the bright sunlight.  
  
“Need anything else my dear?” Aziraphale queries.

“Mmmmphf”

“Perhaps later” murmurs the angel and the demon lifts his elbow enough to roll a suspicious eye at the overly serene looking angel.   
  
“Taking the piss, are you?” but the tone is teasing, the angel smirks and replies tartly  
  
“A random arrangement of consonants is neither a word or a sentence”. Crowley snickers in a particularly suggestive tone but says nothing more than  
  
“Oh I beg to differ on that one, but as you say, perhaps later”. His reply is too mild to be anything other than quite innocuous, but the angel feels twitchy if he thinks about it too hard.  
  
“Lunch?” he retaliates, flipping open the picnic basket lid. Crowley makes a long arm, saying succinctly “Grapes”. He doesn’t generally eat food, but fresh fruit is a weakness, the firm red grapes are both crisp and sweet. He pulls them straight off the stem with neat bites, eyes closed against the sun, while the angel fussily arranges crackers, cheeses, pickles and the remaining grapes on plates in front of him.  
  
With a groan Crowley hoists himself upright, puts the grapes on the plate, pulls off his footwear, and changes his tshirt to a much lighter weight fabric, leaving it loose and untucked. Idly he digs long graceful feet into the warm sand, letting his fingers drag through the fine grains, thinking.  
  
Aziraphale can feel the concentration, so he carries on reading, enjoying a casual lunch, giving the demon time to gather his thoughts and say whatever it is he is thinking about. They learned a lot about each other, talking deep into the night, much of which had shaken the angel to his very core. 

*****************************************************************

There is a raw honesty that can only be achieved at 3am in the morning, assisted invariably by alcohol, when two people are willing to be open and vulnerable with each other. It was a situation they had been in many times before, and some truths accidentally slipped out, but it was the first time they had genuinely tried. Crowley’s hesitant attempts to explain the horrors inside his head while obviously trying to shield the angel from the full truth had damn near bought Aziraphale to his knees in despair.  
  
Consequently the angel tamped down any impatience he may have had, merely enjoyed a nice lunch, on a sunny day at an isolated beach, with only the skreel of seabirds to disturb their peace.

“So. The Plan” Crowley speaks in a tone that is half questioning and half statement.

Aziraphale very abruptly decides to dispense with the long detailed discussion about what he had found in his research, what his thoughts and conclusions were and, very uncharacteristically for him got straight to the point. Although he could not deny that it was refreshing to converse so _directly_ like this. Things got sorted out so much sooner.  
  
“The general consensus on ways to treat PTSD in therapy essentially boil down to one key aspect. Talking about it” the angel shrugged lightly “There are lots of fancy variations with their own acronyms, but the fundamental point seems to be, talking about the experiences helps”.

A long silence “You want me to see a therapist” queries the demon in a vaguely horrified tone.  
  
“Oh dear boy, no, I want you to talk to me!”

Crowley eyes the earnestly wide eyed angel and genuinely wonders which would be the worse of the two choices before sighing in defeat “How does it work then?”

Silently Aziraphale let out the breath he had been holding “Boundaries, Consent and Communication” and ignoring the archly lifted eyebrow of the demon, now smirking quite devilishly _as if there could be any other way_ “We set boundaries about what we are prepared to talk about in in certain situations as they arise. We consent to abide by the boundaries laid down by each other and then we communicate within those parameters”.

“We?”

The angel flushes a little, looking down and away from Crowley and fidgets a bit with a cheese knife “I need to learn how to speak up for myself better” He blushes harder “Im, er, not always very good at listening either”.

With a cryptic “True” the demon snags his now warm cider and drinks off the rest “Whadywe talk about, then?”

“Whatever is giving you nightmares”. The silence that follows this is tense and strained, so the angel carries on hurriedly “Of course, we start with something…..smaller, less intrusive”.

“Intrusive?”

Brow wrinkled in worry, Aziraphale replies “Well, we are going to be poking around inside each others brains. I can hardly think of anything else as intrusive or invasive, can you?”

The smirk was back, along with that flick of red black heat via the link, but Crowley replied carelessly “Guess it depends on your imagination. Got more cider?”

Turns out there was lovely cold cider in a corner of the picnic basket. The demon relocated himself so that he and the angel could look at each other without being blinded by the sun, teasing the angel about the dreadful tartan blanket as a distraction.  
  
They bickered fondly until Crowley was on his third bottle of cider, and starting to loosen up a bit, saying oh so casually “There *is* something I always wondered about, angel?”

Aziraphale’s spine snapped to attention and he forced himself to relax and breathe “Ask away, dear boy”.  
  
Crowley was attempting to peel the soggy label off the cider bottle _why does it always take exactly three bottles before you have to start peeling the labels?_ so replied a bit absentmindedly “I remember how much you loved dressing in the latest fashions” he snorted in amused memory “That appalling outfit in the Bastille – you were wearing satin shoes with little bows on them”.  
  
The angel started to bristle and reply but Crowley got in first “Hush angel, if I'm asking a ‘Question’” doing the air quotes thing with his fingers “I get to ask all of it and you don’t get to reply til I say I'm done. Fair?”

“Agreed, carry on dear boy”

“Anyways, you stopped keeping up with the times around WWII ish, and I have no idea why?”

With a hiss of success, he pulls the mostly intact label off the bottle, screws it up and throws it in the basket “Right, I’m done, that’s my Question”.

He is abstractly picking at the glue on the bottle, so the frozen silence coming from the other side of the tartan blanket doesn’t register until he picks up the most peculiar feeling coming through the link.  
  
Aziraphale is staring into space, with a look of bleak desolation on his face that completely confounds Crowley, who realises he has accidentally asked a much bigger Question than he realised

“Shit! Shit sorry Angel, Shit, you don’t have to answer it”

Aziraphale smiles at him, with such tenderness and affection it makes Crowley either want to cry or kiss it all better, bravely smiles “No love, its alright” He takes a deep breath and with a wry quirk mutters “Harder than I expected this would ever be”

Reaching out to caress the demons jaw, he lightly grabbed a handful of hair and tugged, understanding, the demon crawled into the angel’s lap. Aziraphale loved to run his fingers through the demons long scarlet tresses, and Crowley would happily lie for hours and let him.

 _Stroke after stroke, long soft deep soothing strokes_ Crowley closes his eyes, and nestles in with an “mmmm”

Aziraphales eyes have gone misty, as he stares backwards through time to a church that is about to be bombed out “You remember the church…..1941” He clarifies before the demon rightly points out there have been many churches.  
  
“You walked in on consecrated ground, saved me from those idiot Nazis, remember”

“My feet hurt for months after that, how could I forget?”

“You saved my books as well, too”

 _oh yes I remember, I have a souvenir from that night_  
  
“Mmmm well if you were there, books were probably involved”

_If he were his normal irreverent self, he would have poked the angel, asking ‘are we getting to the point anytime soon’ but he realises that this crosses an unsaid boundary, so waits, unaccustomed to patience_

“That was the night I realised that I was in love with you, and that you might feel the same”

_Neither of them notice the hand, tangled within the long hair but still, clenched tight_

“Eighty years” breathed out the demon “And you never said a word” He rolled over so he could look up at the angel, untangling the hand caught in his hair with a wince, and pressed a kiss to the palm before releasing it.

“I’m not getting the connection between that and your wardrobe choices though?”

Eyes filled with deep bitter sadness, Aziraphale stroked stray hairs off the beautiful face in his lap, steeling himself to say out loud, something he had never even truly admitted to himself  
  
“That moment was the happiest moment of my life” his face twisted in memory “I was too afraid to do anything about it for all the wrong stupid reasons, so I did the only thing I could do”

_Oh angel_

“I kept the memory alive by staying dressed in that time period, it was the only way I could honour it as it deserved” He swallowed thickly “It was the only way I could say I loved you without anyone realising.”

_Oh my beautiful tortured glorious gorgeous subtle angel_

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand. Noticed of course, but didn’t get it.”

“Oh my dear, its alright, until now, I hadn’t even been brave enough to admit it to myself”

Crowley unfolded himself upright so they were face to face, anxiously scanned the face of his beloved before diving in for a quick but solid kiss “Thankyou”

“For what?”

 _For loving me, for not giving up, being brave, for fighting for me, for being you_ “Everything”

Another quick kiss and then he said to break the mood “That was a heavier Question than I expected, so feel free to ask one yourself?”

He drops back into the angels lap, in a not at all subtle invite to continue the hair play, and smiles into one plump thigh as the elegantly manicured fingers resume their magic.

Musingly the angel says “There is something you said recently that made me think?”

“Mmmm” from the face smooshed in his lap

“When I was talking about the new link, you said you always know where I am and when I needed help. Except I don’t have that much sensitivity unless you are reasonably close to me. Is it different for you because you are a demon or is it something else?”

With an emphatic “FUCK” Crowley rolls off the inviting lap, sits up and scrubs his face with his hands  
  
“Fuck, of all the things you had to remember, it would be that one”

And once more with feeling “FUCK!”

Hesitantly Aziraphale asks “If its too much….?”  
  
The demon shakes his head and sighs “No, it probably weighs about the same as what yours did so its only fair……but….”

_Its going to hurt you, and you will blame yourself, for nothing that was not my willing choice_

“I worried about you angel, trouble attracts you like honey, and you are so nice you forget the rest of the world isn’t kind”

_Its that inherent kindness that makes you who you are, and over time you learned to be a bit of a bastard, from me hopefully_

“The human brain comes with a range of sensory perception thingys, options, whatever. I ….um…..altered one of them to boost my connection to you. So I could tell when you were OK, and know where to find you when you weren’t”.  
  
He shifted uncomfortably, waiting for the response.  
  
“Oh Crowley, you gave up your sense of taste, didn’t you?” The demon blinked up at the angel in surprise.  
  
“How did you know?”

“Well it had to be a strong dominant sense to have enough power to do what you needed, you can still see, hear and feel. But you hardly ever eat anything, is that why?”

He shrugged “Part of it, food’s not my thing, not like it is for you” and this time he received a warm angel kiss and a “Thankyou”.

Aziraphale pulled back and looked hard at his lovely demon, stroking softly at his temples with one thumb “Did it occur to you that must be why you feel me so much more over the new link?”

Crowley gaped at him, snorted in wry amusement “Fuck, no but it makes sense”

“Can you turn it off?” and the angel sighed at the set look of resolve on the demons face “You wouldn’t even if I asked you to, would you?”

“Nope” with a very distinct pop on the P.

*****************************************************

Abruptly the angel climbed to his feet, dusting sand off his pants, and reached out a hand to the demon, hauling him to his feet.  
  
“Right, get your wings on dear, I want you to teach me that tight descending spiral I saw you doing the other day”.

“Im not sure your wings are the right shape to manage it?”  
  
“Well we can at least try?”

With a soundless FWOMP a pair of lush white feathered wings appeared on the angels back, a set of sleek iridescent black wings perched on the demon.  
  
Crowleys wings were built for speed and agility, whereas the angels were more for long distance flying, so they were differences to how the wings were shaped, how the feathers were aligned and so on.  
  
They lazed in the sky for a couple of hours, playing, chasing each other, Crowley showing off with some of his snappier acrobatics. The thermals were perfect for playing that day.  
  
Both of them slept soundly and well that night, worn out emotionally and physically.  
  
It was a good day. They would both remember it fondly, for it was the last good day for a long time.


	10. If I Tell You, I Will Lose You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley viewpoint, he is trying so hard, the dear love, and the angel is making it so much harder than it needs to be

The door vibrated alarmingly, the kitchen echoing with the SLAM that Crowley left as the reminder of him storming out again, clawing his way angrily into the sky.  
  
Aziraphale sighed, and rather uncharacteristically for him, miracled up a very stiff G&T. Things had been going….well… he had thought…but…

Well, if he was quite honest, he’s pushing the demon too hard, with only the best of intentions, but its too much for the already emotionally fragile Crowley.  
  
A firm and emphatic “FUCK!” rings in the silence of the kitchen, he stalks to the windows in the sitting room, staring moodily out at the wings he can see carving their way across the sky.

 _There's a storm, thunder and lightning_  
_Deep in your eyes, it's frightening_  
 _Holding strong to what's left of the wreckage_  
 _Before it's gone, my body's sinking_

*********************************************

  
Discarded on the kitchen bench is a slightly crumpled piece of paper. Several lines of elegant copperplate calligraphy fill most of the page:  
  
THE RULES  
  
1\. We agree to stay until this is sorted to both parties satisfaction

2\. TimeOut may be called – this will give an hour in which the caller can define what space they need

3\. Safeword for extreme situations – Everything ceases for 24 hours. Caller can define any and all parameters that they need during this period.

4\. No disappearing at random, at length. At least leave a note.

 _Scrawled in a vaguely decipherable scribble underneath_  
  
_Reserve the right to fuck off in a huff if you piss me off enough_

 _5._ This is hard. Listen and be kind.

6\. Try.

_More vaguely decipherable scribbles_

_7\. GET TO THE FUCKING POINT ALREADY!!!_

_8\. Shutting up is always a valid choice_

_9._ _Ballgags. I am not joking._

_10\. Breathe._

Judith and Lisa exchange pointed glances when they find this the next morning. They are being paid very well for their discretion, but the gossip mill spins faster in the days following.

*********************************************

  
_Cast me down where the devil don't go_  
_Devil don't go where I make my home_  
 _Cast me down where the devil don't go_  
 _Devil don't go where I make my hom_ e

 _Drown my woes in a lake of fire_  
_Sing a song gonna take me higher_  
 _Drown my woes in a lake of fire_  
 _Sing a song gonna take me higher_

Crowley soared into the buffeting winds, clouds building up darker on the horizon. Forecast was for a good blow, and he did adore challenging himself against the elements.   
  
That feeling of throwing yourself into the air, risking uncertain winds, convection fronts, temperature inclines, dodging static electricity and lightning – very little matched it for sheer exhilaration. He couldn’t die, but a direct strike with enough electricity could certainly discorporate him quite effectively.  
  
Riding the endorphins off the edge of the thrill and challenge helped take the edge of his constant nagging anxiety. Sometimes for a blessed while, he even forgot, losing himself dancing in the sky.

_Not often enough and never for long enough_

Rising up above the building winds, he set his wings to cruise, doing idle loops out of sheer habit and skill, riding the wings with instinctive grace. Had anyone on the ground seen him, they would have been reminded of the circling of carrion birds.  
  
_Good lord turned his back on me_  
 _Lucifer gonna set me free_  
 _Good lord turned his back on me_  
 _Lucifer gonna set me free_

 _It's a mean world that I've known_  
 _Never got no good doing what I'm told_  
 _It's a mean world that I've known_  
 _Now you'll find me where the devil don't go_  
 _Where the devil don't g_ o

Suddenly sick of his own self pitying thoughts, he folds his wings tight, twisting, falling, snapping them out to arc up, falling, soaring. It’s a dazzling display of aerial virtuosity. Crowley has had a lot of practice in the air lately, and he has learned these winds well.  
  
_If I ever Fall again, I’m going to be fucking PREPARED_

With a sigh, he alights on the headland on the far end of the beach, tucks his wings away, standing hands wedged in black jean pockets, staring sightlessly out across the sea. Scarlet hair tangling in the wind is the only sign that the weather touches him (the rain doesn’t).  
  
Crowley knows the angel is trying, fuck it and trying hard. But he wants so much from the demon. Things he doesn’t know how to give.

Things he wants never to have to remember or speak of. Ever Again.

  
_It's a mean world that I've known_  
_Never got no good doing what I'm told_  
 _It's a mean world that I've known_  
 _Now you'll find me where the devil don't go_  
 _Where the devil don't g_ o

  
Aziraphale has no idea of the true depth of the depravities of Hell, his refusal to listen to Crowley try and explain *why* he doesn’t want to share the truly gory details is frustrating beyond belief.

  
_If I tell him what he wants to hear, he will always see that when he looks at me._  
  
Eventually, that will be all he ever sees.

_God, I can’t lose him._

_I would rather die._

Everytime he thinks that, it gets a little less shocking and a bit more real.

_Fucking Hell angel, if I told you everything they did to me, you would never sleep at night._  
  
Yet the memory of walking into that burning bookstore terrifies me more than anything else.  
  
Even more than the end of the world.

_If I tell you, I will lose you._  
  
And if I lose you, I lose myself

FUCK!

Somehow, he was going to have to either make the angel listen or terrify him so much he never asks again.

Crowley doesn’t want to do either, but he agreed to fucking TRY, and if he is honest, the talking is helping.  
  
Even after 6000 years of friendship, there are still hidden depths, history, wounds they have never revealed to anyone. Tearing those often partially healed scars open isn’t any kind of fun at all. But sometimes, draining that long hoarded poison to someone who understands, or at the very least, will listen and *care*. Its oddly comforting, Crowley always knew Aziraphale was there, they were each others constants after all. But the feeling that, if he tripped, the angel would be there to catch him……he doesn’t know what to do with that feeling.

Kissing though…………who would have thought there were so many fucking delicious nerve endings in lips. Tongues, and teeth and ……well it was quite indecent really and he was so FUCKING THERE FOR IT.  
  
Rather startlingly, so was Aziraphale. It had been an appallingly long time that he had spent wondering what those angelic lips would feel like _soft, so soft, warm, pliant, yet firm and demanding at will_ reality was even better than his fevered imaginations.

_Kiss is a four lettered word_

6000 years of _want, need, hunger, desire, taste, lick, touch me, oh please just love me_ so many centuries of supressing just how much he wanted… anything… everything….and now to be able to nibble from the most tempting morsel ever seen outside of the Garden. The demon was a creature of pure sin, yet nothing in his very long life was as sinful as the moans the angel made deep in his throat when Crowley kissed like _this, here, this._  
  
This pattern they are trying to shape the both of them into, its too new, so uncertain. Crowley doesn’t know how to lay down all his broken damaged pieces against the purity and wholeness of his angel. How can he sully that kindness, all that is good and pure in the world?   
  
Contaminating the brightness of his angel makes Crowley shudder in disgust, yet when they kiss, he feels the closest to _whole_ he has ever been graced with since Falling.  
  
_Heaven leaves no kind memories, only scars, but sometimes, he remembers grace, tastes mercy_

_Sometimes, when Aziraphale smiles at him, his skin prickles with the faintest of memories_

  
Aziraphale is everything good in his life. Is the ONLY good thing.

  
And the gorgeous blond idiot isn’t going to stop badgering him unless he does something absolutely unforgiveable.  
  
_Before my God, I might not this believe_  
_Without the sensible and true avouch_  
 _Of mine own eyes._

So be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lyrics are Where The Devil Don't Go by Elle King
> 
> Quote from Hamlet at the end


	11. Choice and Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has some late night realisations himself, and Crowley draws a line in the sand

Aziraphale had opted to go out, ostensibly to shop for groceries but it was really an excuse to get out of the house and avoid Crowley’s return, an unearthly numinous weather spirit, wreathed the faint ozone tang of lightning.

Storms often energised the demon, but it was always a gamble as to whether the positive or negative ions had precedence.  
  
Today it felt prudent to just be absent. Perhaps a visit to his favourite boulangerie in Paris? Check in on his bookshop, clear the mail? He calligraphed a note, advising of his absence for possibly 24 hours running errands, and with a sigh of deep relief, escaped with the blink of an eye.  
  
********************************************

Worry lead him back again, earlier than anticipated. The nearly full moon shining in the bedroom window as he stood in the open doorway, gazing upon the sleeping demon.  
  
Long elegant limbs tangled gracefully, even in sleep, one finely turned leg bared to the waist by the slip of the sheet. Deep curve of one hip twisting into the exquisitely sculpted back and shoulders, moonlight casting silver and black shadows into bright relief.  
  
Scarlet hair tangled across the beautiful face that Aziraphale knew had a raw innocence only seen when the demon was sound asleep. Deep unconsciousness revealed the true purity and vulnerability of his spirit, so many nights the angel had gazed upon the demon’s sleeping countenance.

How many times had he stroked back the glorious hair, softly kissed a dreaming frown away, had he let his eyes feast hungrily, where he longed for lips and hands to taste. 

It was a terrible beauty that the demon had been blessed (or cursed with), so easily he could have used it as a weapon, with savage surgical precision. Yet it was the strong moral core that never wavered which made him who he was. Aziraphale would never admit to anyone that he thought Crowley was eye-fuckingly gorgeous, but what he truly loved was his spirit.  
  
The lazy casual kindnesses, the truly half assed effort at being a proper demon, his resolute views on harming children, elderly and other vulnerable creatures, disdain for the limited imagination of both Hell and Heaven, endless delight in the fascinating things that humans created for themselves, thousands of years of companionship, friendship. Love, a deep abiding love for the things that mattered to the demon (who would vehemently deny it if asked).  
  
Aziraphale couldn’t believe that he was blessed to be one of the things that Crowley loved, a radical paradigm shift that had quite unbalanced his whole world.   
  
How do you love someone who has literally loved you for thousands of years? How do you do such commitment justice?

  
Especially when you feel so unworthy of such a love because deep down inside, you were so afraid of…..everything….that you betrayed the trust of your love.  
  
When you used those feelings, flirted just enough to tease, got your love to agree to things they otherwise wouldn’t have, manipulated them deliberately to suit your own agenda.  
  
When you knew it hurt them, but the power it gave you became a substitute for your own thwarted want and desire that it became a game, a powerplay.

It sickened him, knowing he had played Crowley like an instrument over the past few centuries, dancing just far enough within reach to tempt, yet able to slip away when it suited him.  
  
Then one night, standing in the still steaming rubble of a bombed out church, his heart twisted and beat in a new configuration and suddenly it wasn’t a game anymore. Now it had real stakes, because the strings he was pulling reached all the way through the demon and back to him.  
  
Angels are beings of love, but its very much an abstract holistic sense. A general feeling of well being towards …..well… everything. Aziraphale knew other shades of love, fondness, affection, even the carnal pleasures of the flesh.  
  
He was not prepared at all for the profound consuming passion that eventually settled its way into his soul. How his heart skipped a quick beat everytime he heard the familiar drawl of “Hello angel”. How every touch had a hidden silent message that kept him up nights, trying to decode. 

To his eternal shame is the realisation that even though he knew he loved Crowley, he couldn’t be brave enough to break the chains of submission that Heaven had tied his mind up in. Even when the countdown to Armageddon started, he was so blind to their propaganda, he couldn’t see the truth, till it literally, blew up in his face.  
  
He was weak, naïve and not clever at all, despite what the demon thought. He let other peoples fear shape his worldview, and accepted their consequences as the only option. Even when he knew better.

Seeing how hard the demon had fought to save the world, to save…..everything, how he had sacrificed his beloved Bentley to hellfire, oh, that had humbled the angel, how the demon had made the wrong choices for the right reasons.

Choice and Consequence.  
  
That’s what it boiled down to really, are you prepared to deal with the consequences of a particular choice? Are you prepared to stand up, be responsible and own your choices? Damn the fucking consequences?  
  
_Looking at the moonlight playing across the demon sleeping in unholy abandon on their bed, Aziraphale knew he would burn the whole world to its very core, if it kept Crowley alive, safe and well._

He knew his own self disgust was driving him to push Crowley, to open up, too hard too fast. The truth he had been hiding from, that he needed to confess his own sins, apologise (yet again) and DO BETTER!  
  
That truth needed to come out between them, but oh it was so frightening to be that open, vulnerable. To allow yourself to be seen in the harsh light of day. To be judged.

_Oh………._

_Oh my dearest, I begin to see_

_I did not truly listen to all you were telling me, especially the things you don’t yet know how to say._  
  
Resisting the urge to kiss his way from one delicate ankle, all the way up to a knifeblade hip bone, and then beyond, he withdrew soundlessly to the kitchen, reaching for whisky and a large tumbler.  
  
He had a lot of thinking to do.

_So now you're sleeping peaceful_  
_I lie awake and pray_  
_That you'll be strong tomorrow_  
_And will see another day_  
_And we will praise it_  
_And love the light that brings a smile_  
_Across your face_

_Hold on_

  
  
*****************************************

Dawn cast her pearly pink tones across the sky, stirring the angel from his slightly drunken haze. His attention was caught by a page of paper perched on the corner of the kitchen table, held down by an empty wine bottle. It appeared deliberate, put there to be noticed, but unseen in the dark night shadows.  
  
Written in a familiar scrawl was the following:  
  
_**HELLFIRE**_  
  
_**I need three days, time out.**_  
  
_**I also need access to some of your grimoire.**_

**_Better get prepared, for answers you have no fucking idea about._ **

  
  
Hellfire was their primary Safeword – the ‘all bets are off til I say otherwise’ kind.  
  
Thoughtfully he removed the empty winebottle, replacing it with the large punnet of strawberries he had picked up in Provence.  
  
Neatly he wrote at the bottom of the page  
  
_Take all the time you need, and of course, you are welcome to any books. Help yourself._  
  
_I will return in three days._  
  
_A_  
  
**********************************

Crowley woke in a surprisingly good mood, having slept well past dawn. It seemed accepting his own demons, and deciding a course of action helped. He felt calmer, more settled now he had a plan and a goal.  
  
A hot shower and a deep conditioning session for his hair, he threw on some comfy jeans, wandered barefoot to the kitchen, thinking meaningful coffee thoughts.

Thoughtfully he eyed the basket of strawberries _his favourite_ before wandering over to pick up the biggest one on the top. Plump, scarlet the same colour as his hair, perfectly ripe, they smelled of sunshine and happiness.  
  
Reading the angels too formal note, the demon smiled “Apology accepted” he murmured, before taking a large bite out of the strawberry.

He took the basket with him when he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lyrics Hold On by The Rescues


	12. Hello Darkness My Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF TORTURE FLASHBACKS IN THIS CHAPTER
> 
> Starts at this point XXXXXXXXXX
> 
> This was a really tough chapter to write, so if it worked for you (or didnt) would love to hear about it.

Crowley took his time pillaging his way across the ‘special’ bookshelf in the back room of the bookstore. Where the books are separately chained down, with iron and silver, and in a couple of instances, chains regularly blessed with holy water.

He knew what he wanted was possible, what he needed was the right kind of spell framework to clarify intent, define limitations and above all, minimise harm to both of them.

It took nearly all of the two days he had allocated, with several repeat trips to the bookstore until he was satisfied. All the glyphs and sigils had been triple checked against multiple reference books.

The Necronomicon steamed unpleasantly at him, exuding an aura of evil satisfaction, it didn’t understand his purpose for this spell, but it was delighted in the process and the outcome.  
  
_There is no comfort or pleasure to be found in the touch of others in Hell_

Aziraphale wouldn’t take no for an answer, so Crowley was going to go *all* in and give him an absolute undeniable answer.  
  
He was going to link them so that his thoughts would be broadcast to the angel who would experience them *exactly* as he had, full sensory touch, smell taste recall while Crowley took them both down a trip through memory lane.

Crowley was going to rip the bandaid off in the worst possible way. It was his only choice, there were no words to encompass what he had experienced in Hell when your whole world view was angelic. Aziraphale had *no* comprehension, and while the demon was sick to his very broken soul at the degradation he would expose the bright angel to, for both their sakes, it had to be done.  
  
_Then??? Well he got very very fucking drunk on the worst nastiest rotgut he could find, lay down on the warm tiles of his bathroom floor, flung open the locked barricaded gates of his mind, and let all the filth he had locked away float back up to the surface of his consciousness._  
  
Several hours late, the reek from the pool of vomit he was lying in disgusted him enough to wake up. Nice know some things never change.

With a click he cleaned everything up, cured his hangover. A hot shower, a change of clothes, a visit to his coffee machine and he was nearly ready.  
  
For a very long time, he stood staring down at the two diagrams he had crafted. With a sigh, he folded them into a back pocket along with a fine tipped black marker, and whisked himself back to a cottage by the sea.

*********************************************

Aziraphale felt Crowleys return with an intensity of feeling flooding the link – a cocktail of determination, intent, concentration and a sick roiling something that he eventually decided was disgust.

The angel had returned early on the third day, waiting anxiously for the demon. Tension kept him fidgeting til he had made his own escape into the sky, burning time and energy, eventually losing himself in the delight of flying.

He was leisurely arcing his way across the sky, attempting to master a particular turn technique that didn’t suit his wings but was a lot of fun. Crowleys return made itself felt just as he was getting the hang of the right angle, so he stayed in the air for a bit longer but his concentration was shot.  
  
The demon was waiting for him on the beach, something in the way he was standing gave the impression of a vast burden weighing him down, his topaz serpent eyes were hooded, haunted. He looked tired, yet oddly resolute.  
  
They stared at each other for a long intense period, the wind whipping scarlet hair, ruffling white feathers, with a sudden silent _fwomp_ the demon manifested his wings, raising and stretching them in a dominance display. They were narrower but much longer than the angels, who, startled and stepped back, and puts his wings away.

With an inexplicable nod, the demon does the same, with exquisite courtesy, makes a leg, flourishes an elegant bow to the demon, saying crisply “Shall we?”

Uncertain as to what is happening, Aziraphale nods shortly “As you like” he says cautiously “Where to?”

Crowley nods to the house, and silently, they pick their way over the stony beach.  
  
**************************************

The demon directs him up to the ensuite bathroom they have been using, requests that the angel remove his foot wear, jacket and waistcoat, til just his shirt and pants remain, while doing similar himself.  
  
Next they are seated on the now warm tile floor, near the half glass shower.

Unable to stand the nervous tension he bursts out “Are you going to explain any of this?”

He doesn’t like the expression on the demons face “Not really. You wanted answers to questions I really didn’t want to deal with.”

Crowley shrugged, a very pointed nuanced shrug “I’ve spent two days burning my fingers on your Necronomicon, crafting up a spell that’s going to give you every answer so that you never fucking ask again. Understand?”

The demons tone could have cut diamond, it was cold and unforgiving, subtle dissonant harmonics sung underneath his words making Aziraphales skin twitch, he swallowed, nodded assent.

Crowley continued in the same freezing tone “Nothing I can say will prepare you, nor will you listen to any warnings, and for the record, I fucking HATE that you are making me do this”

He abruptly handed a folded piece of paper and black fine tip marker to the angel saying “You need to scribe this on my forehead, do it carefully please”

A quick glance at the glyphs told him enough to glance up at the demon who interrupted before he could protest “Hellfire angel, this is my three days, I call the shots. No questions. I’m offering you one chance to get your answers, in or out. So say it”

An implacable demand and an impossible situation. Aziraphale felt abruptly out of his depth, but he also grasped that while the intent here was pure, that there was no winning, so he said quietly “Turn to the window where the light is better please” and very carefully, scribed the spell glyphs across the demons skin.  
  
He then took his turn to have the same done to him, nerves twanging in anxiety. What Crowley had built was a masterwork of spellcraft, if the angel understood what most of the glyphs had meant.  
  
He knew what the last step entailed and held a hand out in anticipation. The demon manifested a cruelly sharp fingernail, pricked him deeply once in the meaty pad of his thumb, smearing the blood that welled across one fingertip, doing the same to himself. Looking in a mirror, Crowely dabbed both bloody fingers in the center of the circle marked on his skin for the purpose.  
  
Turning back to the angel, shifting emotions deep in his eyes, he murmured

“Forgive me, if you can. Hold on, angel, hold on to yourself”

_The dissonant hiss of hells harmonics layer and buzz over his words_

“Because this is going to hurt like hell”  
  
He reached out, touched his bloody fingers to the angels pale forehead, caught him as he collapsed, pressed a despairing kiss to the still lips, closed his eyes, and took them both down into the dark

************************************************** XXXXXXXXXXX Cue Graphic Warning for Violence for what follows

_Death has a certain fragrance_

_Fear has a bitter taste_

_Pain becomes your only lover_

_You miss it when it is gone_

_He starts with the Fall, of course_

His wings are burning. His WINGS are BURNING!!!!

Shit Fuck FREEFALL

Spinning helpless in the air, face up he watches his wings turn black then burst into flame, screaming with the agony of a million delicate nerve endings on fire

Also the soul deep agony of loss, as his divinity is stripped from him, he can feel it fracturing, shattering, burning away as he is remade in the sky, at frightening velocity. Crowley doesn’t want to know what will be left in its place, what can possibly be left.

Oh SHIT

Through the stinking poisonous yellow grey clouds he sees flashes of fire, burning pits of hot yellow, others a flickering blue. There doesn’t appear to be a lot of solid ground available and he happens to know, that hitting a solid fluid body at this speed will hurt just the same, regardless.  
  
Hysterical with shock and pain, he closes his eyes, wraps his arms tight, whispers a broken hopeless prayer for forgiveness, and lets go completely.  
  
Too hard, too fast he hits the burning pool of sulphur, screaming as the caustic liquid scours every inch of his skin, stripping it to bare nerves, the naked framework of his wings bent and broken, adding yet another layer of pain.

Flailing, panting, he crawls out of the flickering blue flames, trailing eldritch blue flames off the edges of his wings. Too broken and shocked to do anything other than survive, he crawls, dragging himself away…

….. away from everything he ever was

He keeps crawling til a clean up crew pick up the pathetic creature, and so he is renamed, reborn in pain and fire

**************************************

PAIN

So many flavours of pain. 

Sharp cutting drag of claws through flesh, deep tugging agony of tissues tearing, nagging ache of broken bone scraping raw unset ends against each other

A graunching crunch of metal hooks slowly tearing their way into flesh, being hooked right through his body, underneath collarbones

The long screaming ache of being suspended , his body pulling at the metal embedded so deep in his body it now feels like part of him

Stinging kiss of a razor blade, the distinctive _crunch_ of a joint being violated yet again

Tendons giving way with a screaming snap and lingering ache as limbs curl in response

The singing blissful release when the endorphins finally kick in and he can ride out the edges into the black, where pain becomes pleasure and he can escape inside his head.

He learns, slowly, to partition the pain away, how to accept it and subsume himself in it. When all you know is pain, it becomes everything, eventually it becomes your whole existence. If you have nothing left but pain and time, you can learn to manage, control it.

You can’t close all of it off, but you can take what pleasure can be derived, can distance yourself.

  
Half the fear is anticipation.

Letting go of that, accepting pain is inevitable, embracing its existence takes away much of the power of anticipation. You take back a small measure of control.

He learns to suffer just enough, visibly struggle just enough to keep his tormentors happy. If he clocks out too early, they will get bored. When they get bored they either get creative or brutal, but he pays the price in pain regardless.  
  
Crowley learns and plays his part, becoming a virtuoso at playing off his tormentors against each other.

He endures, unforgivably

****************************************

Choking, he coughs up black red bubbling foam. It hurts to breath, in tiny gasping sips of air

It hurts to exist 

Scrabbling for purchase on the floor, slick with stagnant noxious puddles, he winces as his bloody raw fingertips touch the ground, claws ripped out again, at least one wrist broken, probably a dislocated shoulder, and the nagging ache behind his eyes another concussion

He is chained to a wall, has been for weeks (months?) and the swollen septic wound is reaching gangrene hot for his knee.  
  
If they don’t send a healer, he will probably lose the leg

*******************************************

Oh fuck, is that a chainsaw….?  
  
************************************ 

Hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts

Razor blade slices deep in long strips down his back, over and over again

_he knows_

_he knows what comes next_

with a tug at one end, the tearing begins, slowly, in one long pull

one strip at a time

they literally tear the skin off his back

_he screams until they gag him to shut him up_

_the other choice is to beg for mercy_

_there is no mercy to be had  
_

_therefore_

HE DOES NOT BEG

HE NEVER DOES

**************************************

He learns to uses his words as weapons

Mocks his tormentors, panting, breathless, he manages to laugh at them

He critiques their technique

“imagine fucking demons in hell torturing a victim, and they can’t even get it to scream” 

“this fucking incompetence is OUTSTANDING”

  
his mouth gets him noticed, and not in a good way

it’s a pretty mouth, apparently, and many demons have a pretty predictable plan in mind for it

he delights in finding new ways to make use of his teeth

_demon jizz burns and tastes acidic, he spits it back at them and laughs at their disgust_

_*************************************_  
Hell lacks imagination in general, in some ways that’s the most painful torment of all

Its all so predictable, obvious, just as much fucking bureaucracy as in Heaven, but even more useless.

Crowley uses it against them, asking questions, light careless questions, that provide all sorts of interesting answers. Imagination and curiosity got him into this fucking mess, so he was going to weaponise it at every opportunity.  
  
He makes friends in low places, begins to add some value, gain a measure of protection.

When they come for him now, its not a casual brutal encounter.  
  
They plan, organise stealth attacks, he is quick, observant and FUCKING motivated, but he is also still very alone

So now he is ‘taking one for the team’ where it seems he is only ever a team of one

Oddly these are the encounters he enjoys the most, taunting them at the beginning completely throws them off their game. They expect him to be afraid, to beg for mercy.  
  
Its rather off putting to instead be subjected to a cold calculated critique on their technique, pointing out all their mistakes. The first one being, he should have been gagged. That one, he keeps to himself because it rarely seems to occur to them.  
  
Crowley perfects the art of a hysterical giggle, much like that of a hyena and it drives them nuts.  
  
It’s a very unsubtle mocking laugh that travels oddly through the stinking badly lit tunnels in Hell.   
  
Its not at all a good thing for a demons reputation if everyone gets to hear his vicious laugh while they are trying to cut him to pieces  
_  
Rage rage against the dying of the light_

************************************************

Blood…..maybe….. dripping its slow sticky path down his face, along a broken cheekbone, down his jaw to drip off the point of his chin

Drip

Drip

Drip

Hanging head down, shoulders pulled back by the metal shackles holding his wrists in place

Kneeling in fetid stinking pools of unknown filth

He can’t see

His eyes are gone

again

**************************************  
  
On and on, memory after memory, he calls them up, parades them for the sake of his angel

_Cradled whimpering and crying in his arms, breaking his heart, even as he goes deeper and deepe_

_You wanted to know angel_

**_Finally he opens that last, most painful and freshest of doors_ **

_*********************************************_

_  
He can feel it when the link between him and Aziraphale snaps and only echoing nothing is left in its place_

_He panics, he doesn’t know who, but someone has come for his angel and now he is gone from this earthly plane  
_

_Driving on instinct, leaving a trail of near miss accidents behind him, he damn near teleports the Bentley to the bookstore  
_

_Its burning  
_

_ITS BURNING_

_Inside him, that piece of him that is Aziraphale shaped develops a haze of cracks_

_He strides into the burning building, screaming for his friend, screaming out his fear, his pain, the agony of centuries_

_The cracks shatter and the pain of it has him on the floor, throat raw_

_He thought he knew all the possible shades and colour of pain, but this_

_This hurts like nothing else he has ever known, how is it possible to feel this…..empty_

_He is bereft, rendered forlorn and forsaken, desolate in a way he cannot comprehend_

_6000 years they have been enemies, friends, partners, and oh, he had hoped for so much more_

_Gone was his hope, his love, his reason for existing_

_Never had he felt so godforsaken, even the shocking agony of his divinity ripping itself from his very celestial being didn’t hurt at all in comparison to this_

_Oh god, he could stand any torture it was possible to inflict on another person_

_But this….._

_The one person he loved more than anything, in the whole universe_

_He claws his way up through the flames and debris, kneeling,  
_

_he roars his breaking shattering grief, a threnody of exquisite anguish consuming every fibre of his being, whats left of his soul is harrowed, plundered, despair his wretched companion_

_screaming again and again until there is nothing left_

_nothing_

_except_

_pain_

_for the light in his life has finally, gone out_

Hello Darkness, my old friend

Shakily, one partially burned book claimed as a souvenir, he stands

lurches ungracefully out of the shop

where everything has changed

and nothing will ever be the same

ever again

**************************************

With a shaking hand Crowley wipes the blood off his forehead, and off the angels, speaks the phrase to end the spell and waits.

Blue eyes snap open, wide, horrified unseeing, with a choking gasp, Aziraphale curls into the floor tiles, shaking, shuddering and vomits again and again, until pained dry grunts are all the sound he can make.

Quietly Crowley begins to speak “Angel, Aziraphale, its ok, its alright, I have you my love, I have you, you are safe, its ok, its over, its done, you are safe, you are safe”

Murmuring his litany of nonsense, hoping his familiar voice will soothe and eventually penetrate the haze of horror the angel is experiencing, at first he doesn’t realise the angel is very brokenly keening out words in between the great sobs racking his frame.  
  
“Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Im so sorry”

Crowley knew too intimately what state the angel would end up in, having been there himself, so he tentatively reaches a hand to cup a shoulder, and holds it there, even as the angel cries out and flinches

_The memory of pain lingers, even when its only a memory_

“I know love, I know, Ive got you, Ive got you now”

Slowly he gathers the wrecked angel into his arms and they lie, entangled on the warm bathroom tiles, until Aziraphale regains his composure.

It takes a while.  
  
Crowley has eternity

***********************************

_I’ve got the same deep wounds as you_  
_My love can double as a weapon too_  
_Say that you trust it and I’ll set it free_  
_Turn it back on me_  
_Turn it back on me_

  
_We trade our secrets when it’s safe_  
_Our ammunition when the fever breaks_  
_Show me the side no one else sees_  
_Turn it back on me_  
_Turn it back on me_

_I am exposed, I am undone_  
_You tear the walls down one by one_  
  
_We tried to run, we tried to hide in fear of losing ourselves_  
_We tried to keep it all inside so we don’t hurt someone else_  
_When all the demons come alive I’ll still be under your spell_  
_This could be heaven or hell_  
_This could be heaven or hell_  
  
_In you I found my only faith_  
_I lost my halo to your renegade_  
_This love could bring me to my knees_  
_Turn it back on me_  
_Turn it back on me_

_  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lyrics Heaven and Hell by Digital Daggers


	13. Confessions and Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are beginning to get very real for a certain angel, he is realising the consequences to some of his choices, and finding the difficult path around making new choices.

Crowleys preparations paid off, he was able to move the angel into the shower, wash them down and tuck them both into bed to sleep off the effects of the day.

There were nightmares to deal with, on more than one occasion, and he spent a lot of time lying next to his angel, listening to him breathe erratically, stuttering as his brain struggled to process the horrors it was convinced it had experienced.

Oh, how he hated the necessity of having to do this, but he could not deny the relief of having shared the very worst of his existence with the one person who just might forgive him for it.  
  
_Im under your spell, from heaven to hell  
The in between is so enticing_

_Hold me down and bring me peace again  
Hold me under_

_Take me to the bitter end  
Hold me under_

Now they just had to make it through the night and see what the light of day would reveal.  
  
What judgement it might bring.

********************************************* _  
_

_He couldn’t breathe, drowning, drowning_

_Gasping for air in a black void of nothingness_

_Screaming silently, endlessly_

_No one coming to save him_

_He shuddered at the touch of warm arms slowly gently cradling him, a voice blessedly familiar yet horrifyingly awful, soothing, lulling, talking him down off the edge, breaking through the edge of brutality, offering peace, solace_

_Hesitant, untrusting, he slowly acquiesces, unfolding, reassembling himself, one broken puzzle piece at a time_

_Eventually the balance tips and he becomes less demon and more angel, he remembers Aziraphale_

_He breathes_

_Sleeps_

The morning light softly creeps its way up the crumpled sheets, two sleeping forms tangled around each other so tightly one struggled to tell where one ended and the other began. Long scarlet hair flowed over one shoulder, veiling the face of the other tucked tight within the shelter of his body.

Aziraphale woke with a shudder, an inward breath that could have been a scream had he not caught it, held it, heart pounding, blinking in the bright morning light

_It was the light that made him realise where he was, nothing so natural and real in Hell_

Closing his eyes, with great control he let the breath out, staying in the moment

_I’m safe, safe, safe, I’m here, I’ve always been here_

His senses began to expand outside of his core, making him aware of an annoying tickling on his face and neck, an overwhelming warmth down his back, arms tightly wrapped around him, a leg thrown over his hip, and the demon who may be slightly snoring into his hair.

Reality asserted itself with a click and the angel smiled, knowing he *was* secure and safe, drifted off to sleep again.

_When he wakes hours later, there is a tray on the table next to the bed, containing a basket of still warm croissants and pastries, freshly squeezed ice cold orange juice and one red carnation in a vase_

When Aziraphale dresses, he picks the carnation, takes a moment to inhale its spicy fragrance, tucking it into his buttonhole.  
  
_My heart aches for you too, my love_

_**************************************_

He knew his demon would be in the air, burning nervous energy, so deliberately opened up the link, sending a pulse of as much calm serenity as he could muster over the link.

Lingering over his morning tea, indulging in the crossword, eventually concentrating so much that the kitchen door opening startled him. Crowley strode in, eyes wary as he assessed the angel’s demeanour

“Aziraphale” it was a question more than anything

“Whats an 8 letter word starting with B for sex toy?”

Aziraphale had the unexpected delight of seeing Crowley literally stumble over his feet, falling forward to catch himself on the edge of the table, spluttering “What???”

“Its eleven down, dearest and has me quite stumped, any ideas?”

_My, that is a very intense look on the demons face just then_

Crowley’s face is completely unreadable for a long moment, mouth working silently, staring at the oh so innocent angelic face. “Butt plug” he chokes out, and staggers in the direction of the coffee machine

“Perfect, thankyou dearest”

With a haunted expression, the demon escapes into the garden, coffee in hand, and doesn’t see the angel, shaking, exhale, propping himself up with two hands on the tabletop

_Breathe, just breathe_

_***********************************_  
  
Thrown completely offstride, literally, Crowley paces the garden, muttering threats under his breath at the perennials, who have already been flowering far past their usual season.

Eventually he realises the anxious twitchiness he is feeling is coming through the link from the angel, who isn’t the calm collected exterior he just projected at all.

Crowley smiles, spirit easing, this he knows how to deal with, this is a burden he well knows how to bear.

 _I've been looking for an angel, angel_  
_Been looking for an angel, angel_  
 _To come save me from this hell_  
 _To come save me from myself_  
 _I've been looking for an angel, angel_  
 _Been looking for an angel, angel_  
 _To kill the aching in my heart_  
 _Don't leave me lost here in the dark_

*************************************

Aziraphale notices when the Bentley rumbles its way down the driveway, off into the distance. It’s unusual for Crowley to go out in it by himself, out here anyway.   
  
He makes himself a bracing cup of tea, nestles into a corner of the sofa, and broods. When the Bentley arrives around the front of the manor house, the angel has gone so deep inside himself he barely notices.  
  
***********************************  
Crowley convinces the Bentley to act as an outdoor sound system, while he unloads the trays and trays of plantlets carefully stacked in the backseat. Bags of compost appear from the boot and he changes into a ratty pair of jeans (from some time in the 80s) and a worn tshirt that says “I’ll see you in Hell” on the front.  
  
Donning gardening gloves, he starts with pruning the quaking perennials, followed by a good weed of anything brazen enough to sow itself in his garden.  
  
Music pours out of the Bentley, and he loses himself in the quiet satisfaction of manual labour. Its another lovely warm sunny day, and he is basking, singing snatches of songs.

_All the while he has the link wide open on broadcast, sending content, satisfaction, pleasure and as much serenity as he is capable of feeling.  
_

It takes a bit longer than he expected, but he had planned a good few hours of work in the garden, was a little over half done when curiosity eventually drew Aziraphale out into the garden.  
  
Crowley, head down, on hands and knees, working compost into the soil with a trowel, studiously ignored the angel, til a pair of tan oxfords stepped up beside him and offered a welcome bottle of chilled cider

“Missing your plants?” asked the angel quietly.

Gratefully he takes the bottle, slowly and steadily swallows it down until the bottle is empty, puts it aside, reclining artlessly on the grass beside the angel

“S’good, needed that, thanks” and in response to the original question he shrugged “Something to do”

Shading his eyes from the sun, he squints up at the angel “D’you want me for something? Can take a break?”

Dubiously the angel looks at all the gardening implements scattered around “Ummm do you want some help?”

Crowley bursts out laughing, and the angels expression changes to affronted “Oh you should SEE the look on your face angel” and waves a hand in the vague direction of some faded Cape Cod chairs off to one side “Keep me company if you like?”  
  
As the angel turns to walk away Crowley says lightly “Any cider left?”. One bottle suddenly sprouts itself in the garden, condensation glistening. The demon makes a long arm, plucks it from the soil, twists the top off “Cheers”

He watched the angel pick up one of the heavy wooden chairs, bringing it over to near where Crowley was lounging, idly sipping at his cider.  
  
The Bentley begins to play Chopin Nocturne Op.48 No.1 rather surprisingly, as Crowley is pretty sure he doesn’t have any Chopin on his main driving playlist.

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows and looks questioningly at the Bentley, Crowley shrugs “Could be worse, could be Rachmaninoff”

The angel shudders delicately “So very thumpy on the keyboard, too much passion and not enough finesse if you ask me”

Crowley unfolds to his feet, dropping the cider bottle in the shade of the chair on the way past, grabbing another bag of compost in each hand, ripping them open and pouring on the soil.   
  
“Or that horrible plinky plinky stuff that was all the rage for a while”

“Lizst”

Crowley is smoothing the compost over the soil with his hands, before picking up the trowel, digging, turning over the soil, mixing the compost deep into the surface layer.  
  
“Liked Debussy a lot though, very dramatic but still lyrical”  
  
“Wonderful chord work”

“Mmmmm if you like that sort of thing” he moves a few feet to the left, starting on preparing a new patch of soil and is humming to the newer modern song playing from the Bentley without thinking about it too much.  
  
***************************************

Aziraphale fidgets in the chair that would probably be more comfortable if he relaxed and sat back in it the way it was designed. He remembers the half full cider bottle nearby, claims it as his own, and finishes it off.

He startles when the demon says unexpectedly “Whatever it is angel, just say it”, but he continues digging in the garden, back to the angel “I can feel you thinking from here”.

  
_Be careful what you wish for angel, you wanted answers, now you have them, what will you do with them?_

He says quietly “It was all …….real…. wasn’t it?”

The demon stills in his gardening, long scarlet plait hanging next to his face replies in a quiet serious tone “Yes, those were my memories. It all happened, exactly like that”

_the demons hands clench into fists unseen within the dirt, back clenches, arches, in preparation for the hit he knows is coming_

“I am so very sorry you had go through all that again for me, Crowley can you ever forgive me?”

With the slightest flinch the demon turns towards Aziraphale and asks somewhat dazedly “Forgive you?”

“Oh, its shameful of me to even ask it of you” the angels distress is obvious, even if he couldn’t feel it through the link “You are so strong, and I am weak, selfish and I hurt you dreadfully…” he trails off at the expression on Crowleys face.

“You want me to forgive you?’’

Aziraphale feels like he is teetering on the edge of a chasm, where howling winds and echoing shadows are all that greet you on the way down, breaks the burning gaze of the demon by glancing away, licking his lips nervously before whispering “I’m sorry Crowley, I hoped you might be able to but I understand if you don’t”

He goes to rise but the demon interrupts

“What do you need forgiveness for, exactly?”

_Well, yes, that really was a very good question, or not, if you happen to be an angel way past due on your confession, and now its time to pay up  
_

_  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lyrics Heaven and Hell and Angel, both by Digital Daggers


	14. Crosswords and Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finally confesses up his sins, and gets more than he bargained for as a result

Crowley has no fucking idea what is going on with this conversation, at all really. Which is bloody typical for an angel who can *never* get to the point without going via the scenic route, getting lost at least twice on the way.  
  
Some days its adorable, mostly just annoying. Occasionally its tedious beyond fucking belief.  
  
But the rarity of his angel initiating this kind of conversation is intriguing. Plus the quiet desperation he can feel is telling him there is something bigger going on here.  
  
Shaking off his confusion, he asks the one question that might, hopefully, get an answer.  
  
“What do you need forgiveness for, exactly?”

********************************************************

Aziraphale darts a glance at the demon, lounging limbs askew on the grass, recognising the “please get to the fucking point sometime this century” expression on his face, with a throat suddenly dry, perched uncomfortably on the wooden chair he begins quietly.  
  
“I was there…….when Lucifer and his host Fell. We stood on the edges watching…their wings blackened, burned in the air as they fell and fell…..the screams echoed around Heaven for days after.”

He closes his eyes, lost in distant memory “The smell…burning feathers and brimstone…haunted me, if I closed my eyes it was overwhelming, endless screams and burning feathers” a delicate shudder of remembered horror, blue eyes darkened with the past stare unseeing at Crowley.  
  
_Shit shit he’s caught in my memories of the Fall now_

“Is that why you never sleep?”

Aziraphale startles out of his reverie “What?”

“Nightmares angel, is that why you never sleep?”

They exchange a long introspective glance, silent messages of _its nothing compared to what happened to you_ and _I know but it was the most horrifying thing you had ever experienced, context angel_ and Aziraphale steadied

“It *was* the most horrifying thing I had ever seen, yet Heaven was delighted. How could they be happy so many of our brothers and sisters were destroyed like that? How could this terrible thing possibly be part of Gods Plan?”

“Dangerous questions to be asking in Heaven, angel” said the demon who had Fallen for a very similar crime.  
  
Aziraphale blushed, fully aware of the cruel irony “And no good answers to any of them either. Gabriel was insufferably smug, Michael radiated pompous satisfaction, and everyone thought it was a very splendid outcome”.

“Except for you”.

The angel pursed his mouth “Doubt was a very new experience for me, and it made me question everything, including my faith. But I was absolutely terrified of Falling myself….”

“So you played along at being Heavens perfect little angel” Aziraphale flinched at the lightly mocking edge.  
  
“Fear does very strange things to your brain if you live with it long enough, and I was so *very* afraid. It was easier to just let myself believe what they told me. If I didn’t think about it too hard, then …..”

Crowleys voice was quiet with deep understanding “But you did, keep thinking, didn’t you?” He continued to the puzzlement of the angel “You gave your sword away. Broke the rules. Disobeyed. Justified it enough to keep management happy….Fraternised with a demon…”

“You’ve always been different Aziraphale, its what made you interesting”.

The angel folds his mouth into something that might vaguely resemble a smile, if the rest of his face was not so resolutely sad.  
  
“I was so afraid of everything and let them bind me in rules because it was easier for me. I doubted myself because my faith should be stronger. Chose to believe in Heaven, even when I had so many questions”.

“I know, angel” and the kindness nearly undid Aziraphale.  
  
Sick with self disgust, he clamped his hands tight on the edge of the wooden seat, knuckles white under the strain

“You were so strong, so brazen, you questioned everything, argued with Dagon, ignored their rules” he shook his head dazedly “I couldn’t understand how you dared so much, how they never seemed to touch you…..”

_Oh Angel_

A liquid shrug “Now you know”

_Now you know there was nothing more horrifying than what they already had done_

“Yes” whispered the shaken angel “And I am so sorry I made you relive that..”

“Me too” casually said but the tone was short

Aziraphale quailed a little _get to the point  
_

“I knew you felt…. differently about me…. more than just friends. I’ve know for a very long time”

He didn’t expect the fond quirk of a smile as the demon replied lazily “I know, angel”

Perturbed he asked “You do? Did? Um do?”

“You’re a truly terrible flirt”

Aziraphale thought about all the possible meanings of that sentence and ventured carefully “As in really bad at it, or have the habit of doing it a lot?”

The demonic smile is now a deliciously evil smirk “Both”

The angel thought hard about the implications of that and settled for a quiet “Oh”

“Mmmmm?” he was deliberately not looking at Crowley now

“You knew….I was….?”

“Attempting to play me like well hooked salmon? Of course, most fun I’ve had in ages. Although……” he eyed the angel speculatively for a bit “Do you think you could just ASK for what you want now? Figuring out your bloody vague hints is just fucking tiring after a while, yanno?”

Aziraphale gaped open mouthed at him for a moment, his brain stuttering under the onslaught of what it was processing.

“Why?”

“Why did I dance attendance, catering to your every whim?”

“Yes”

The angel had to look away, what he saw in the demons topaz eyes was too strong, too much as he said with quiet intensity “Why do you think, angel?”

He choked out “Can you ever forgive my weakness? For being so afraid when I should have been brave instead? For letting my fear have more power over me than my love. I’m an angel, I represent love! How could it possibly be wrong!?!”

“Even for a demon?” and the undertone of loathing drove the angel forward, straddling Crowley, kneeling above him, tangling a hand in the scarlet hair, tracing the knifeblade cheekbone with one thumb, they hung together, trembling before he murmured  
  
“I can’t think of anyone who needs or deserves it more”

Crowleys voice is hoarse with need

“I forgive you Aziraphale, everything, always. Now *please* kiss me”

*************************************

Sometime later, breathless, panting, the demon now kneeling over the rather mussed angel, he grabs both angelic wrists and pins them to the ground and growls out  
  
“You owe me an apology, by the way”

Frantically trying to order his thoughts the angel stammers “What for?”

Crowley leans forward until their faces are nearly touching, and with silken menace he hisses “Eleven across was seven letter word for Japanese rope fetish, and we *both* know its Shibari”

He indulges in a long slow lick along the startled angels jaw and hisses in his ear “Tricksssy hobbitssesss” and nips the ear of the now hysterically laughing angel.


	15. Birds of A Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a surprise for the angel, and turns out the angel has a surprise for the demon.
> 
> Aziraphale has game, and Crowley has a meltdown, as is only proper :)
> 
> Tongues and assorted filth to follow!

Aziraphale had given up worrying about the state of his clothes, now they were both mud and grass stained, helping Crowley plant out the trays of plantlets. Two hands got the job done by the time sunset was starting to darken the sky.

Just as well as the next day dawned to dark clouds, gusty wind and a significant temperature drop. Rain was inevitable and the demon was unaccountably twitchy at being kept inside. He could fly in the rain, but didn’t always enjoy it.

Pacing irritably sipping at his third cup of coffee, jittery with the caffeine he muttered “Cabin Fever!! Angel, we need to get out of here”.

Anything to distract the fretful demon, a bored Crowley was a dangerous thing “Let me just get my jacket dear boy, what did you have in mind?”

Crowley smooshed his face up expressively, eyeing the angel fussing with the buttons on his coat, an expression that clearly indicated he was up to no good (it was any expression really, but this calligraphed _intent_ ) “Lets go shopping….”  
  
With a blink Crowleys rather casual outfit became somewhat sharper, edgier, dangerous, and he topped it off with his favourite leather jacket, donned sunglasses and offered the angel his arm “Shall we?”  
  
********************************************

The angel was beginning to form his “Where are we going”question when they blinked into existence in an alleyway which backed onto Savile Row.  
  
Crowley led them out into the flow of extremely well dress pedestrians, they meandered arm in arm looking at the window displays, Crowley deliberately steering the angel away from a window of the most hideous plaid til they reached No 13 and proceeded up to the first floor.  
  
The angel looked at the discreet sign ‘The Cad & The Dandy’ and twitched a sarcastic eyebrow at the demon, who returned in kind. Smirking at each other, they entered the luxurious waiting room, to be greeted with familiarity – well Crowley was anyway.  
  
Champagne was offered and accepted, Crowley outfit was gushed over, and Aziraphale began to wander in the direction of the large sofa by the fire, but a long black leather clad arm reached out, grabbing a shoulder, steering him back to the conversation.  
  
“I know we don’t have an appointment, but” he gestured to the angel and murmured in his most tempting tone “Perhaps you might relish a real challenge….?”

The demon ignored the horrified look Aziraphale shoots him, one fine boned hand resolutely clamping down on a tan shoulder and continues “Some casual wear to get us started, and fitting for a day and a formal suit as well. Shoes, accessories, all the stuff. Triple rates for anything you can turn around in 24 hours”

Eyes that were already delighted to see the sartorially elegant demon lit up even brighter, hands were clapped and angels were bustled off to a well lit dressing room, for more champagne, delicious canapés. He bore the indignity of being measured, resignedly chose fabric samples, agreed to look at accessory options and shoes, and when they were finally alone, he rounded on the demon, stalking the perimeter of the room like a bird of prey.  
  
By now the angel had worked himself in to a right snit “What is the meaning of this Crowley, ambushing me without a by your leave??” He gestured wildly with his champagne flute, nearly scattering the contents on the expensive carpet, and the demon alighted at his hand, like a raptor to the glove.  
  
Rescuing the flute, Crowley drained the contents, before casting it aside on the antique sideboard and then interrupted the angelic tirade of outrage by the extremely effective method of one hand tilting a pale chin up, and kissing him firmly.  
  
The murmurs of outrage faded into murmurs of another kind, and neither heard the door behind them open, pause for a moment and close again. Eventually they came up for breath, and the demon laid one finger on the angelic lips

“Shhhh Aziraphale, long past time, don’t you think? Not 1941 anymore. Things have changed, a lot. Isn’t it time you did too?”

Adorably defiant, the angel pouted “But…” and the caress of a demonic thumb stayed his words

“It would make me happy, just try it out, please?”

Aziraphale deployed the usually devastating puppy dog eyes but he didn’t account for the fact that the demon had his own weapons now, and melted under another assault on his lips.  
  
Wickedly Crowley whispered against his lips “Will make it worth your while, promise….”

The angel perked up “Crepes? In Paris?” With fond exasperation the demon replied “Anything you like angel”

“Now, we need more champagne!”

*******************************************************

Aziraphale would never willingly admit it, but he quite delighted with all the fuss. Crowley was obviously well known here, which explained a few things about his more recent wardrobe advances.

He had always indulged in being finely turned out through history, and while much of the modern era clothing styles had not been to his taste, the current trend for a blend of modern with vintage was quite appealing.  
  
Much as Crowley had his own aesthetic, Aziraphale had embraced his own, but he could see how polished the modern look was combined with vintage style fabrics.  
  
While he would do nearly anything for crepes, he *would* do absolutely anything to make Crowley happy, who was more tightly strung than usual, but now relaxed enough to laze leggily on one end of the sofa, well into his second bottle of champagne.  
  
Hurling comments, questions and opinions into the mix of staff flocking around the angel, tucking, pinning, draping, the demon conducted the affair with a surprising amount of flair and expertise.  
  
The angel got into the spirit of the occasion, argued forcefully for a particular plaid, winning agreement for ONLY in a waistcoat, if he absolutely must. His thirties sock garters caused somewhat of a stir amongst the young staff, most of them coveted them immediately.   
  
Eventually they were done in time for a leisurely lunch, and all the crepes a happy angel could eat, before returning to collect the casual wear that had been altered while they lingered at lunch.  
  
Aziraphale found himself now dressed in some pale tan chinos, dark cream turtle neck and a very snazzy houndstooth sports coat in dark caramel and cream with very comfortable leather loafers to match.  
  
He felt……good… the clothes were comfortable, much less bulky and fussy. His silhouette was sleeker, he looked younger, and expensive.   
  
Aziraphale turned from the mirror, and smiled shyly at the demon, doing his usual vertical slouch against a wall and asked “What do you think my dear?”

Standing up with a bit of a shudder, Crowley stalked slowly to the angel, slowly scanning him from head to toe, stopping in front of him, grabbing the lapels of the new coat, and pulling him in for a very affirmative kiss.

“I *think* I’d like to peel you out of this….very .slowly…actually”  
  
The angel adjusted his lapels, flustered at the implications and hedged with “Perhaps later?”

“Mmmmmm” never had a collection of consonants sounded both ominous and noncommittal.

Crowley waved a black credit card at the staff, who discretely took it away to do inappropriate things to it in the back offices, with a complimentary bottle of champagne, and effusive thanks from the staff.  
  
Loaded up with several bags, they sauntered down the stairs, and the demon whisked the parcels back to the manor house. He offered an arm to his stylishly clad angel “Shall we promenade my dear?”

Heads turned to follow the two of them, as they chatted and reminisced on their other visits in previous eras.  
  
They lingered in London, enjoyed being tourists for the day, and of course the Ritz for dinner before returning to the manor house by the sea, where the weather was even more appalling

**********************************************************

Dawn bought rain lashing the windows in sheets, Crowley sulked in bed until lunchtime. He was tense and jittery, more so than usual, so Aziraphale was happy to leave him to his brooding.

The storm crow emerged sullen and restless, reaching straight for the Talisker, and roamed the house, unable to settle until in despair the angel burst out  
  
“What on earth is wrong with you Crowley, you are haunting the place like a bear with a sore head?”

“Wings” was the short response.  
  
“What?”

“M’wings are sore, pin feathers are fledging, itchy as hell” he shuddered with a subtle flex of the shoulders.  
  
Aziraphale reached for one of his less used epithets “Dumb ass!” smiling inwardly at the shock on the demons face.

“Why didn’t you just say so? I would have been happy to help! How long has it been like this?”

“Few days” was the shamefaced reply.

“And?” demanded the stroppy angel

Crowley sighed, running a hand through his tangled locks, shrugging painfully “Its been a bit ….intense…. lately, didn’t want to impose”

The angel paused for a moment, that was true, and to a certain extent valid, but he was happy to fight dirty on this one, so said in his very mildest of tones, the one that cut the deepest when necessary  
  
“What *exactly* did you say to me about asking for what I wanted?”

He was startled to see the demon blush quite deeply _I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before_

“Alright, upstairs, on the bed or whatever is most comfortable for you”

Obediently, the demon, whisky bottle in one hand, tumbler in the other, did what he was told for a change.  
  
After a moments thought, the angel shed his new loafers, sock, and pushed up the sleeves on his turtleneck, armed himself with some champagne. Feathers could be dusty, intense work.

***************************************************

Crowley had arranged himself in the middle of the bed, pillows tucked under his torso to take the load off his shoulders. Stripped down to just the black jeans, bare feet poking off the edge of the bed, glorious wings extended in a relaxed position, he truly did look like a fallen angel.  
  
Aziraphale stopped to get a good eyeful in the doorway before moving forward, putting the champagne down on a side table within reach, sitting carefully on the side of the bed, next to the demons hips, resisting the urge to bury his face in the mass of glossy black wings and inhale the sandalwood fragrance that his demon carried everywhere.  
  
“Where is the problem?”

“Scapulars and coverts. All the fluffy shit I can’t reach”

The angel hummed in sympathy “Oh yes I know” and climbed onto the bed “Lift up will you”. He crossed his legs comfortably and scooted forward til the offending area was in his lap, and he patted the wing down into place.

“Righto, lets get you sorted” with a blink the sound system started playing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons quietly.  
  
Crowleys wings were in a right state, with all the pin feathers emerging from their sheaths, and a lot of wear and tear  
  
“Been flying too much dearest” he murmured

“Mmmmmm” was all the response he got.

***************************************************************

_Oh god, oh god, oh god_

He tightened all the muscles in his back, trying not to writhe in agonised pleasure, hands clenched grasping in the sheets

_Fuck, oooooh god that feels good_

He moaned, as quietly as he could into the pillow, but the angel heard him  
  
“Relax dearest, just let go, I’ve got you”

_Well that didn’t help at all_

Hard, aching with one very large sensitive erogenous zone being expertly fondled by an oblivious angel, he panted and moaned out his need.  
  
A brief respite as the angel changed sides, and the initial pain killed the mood a bit, gave a chance to clear his head.  
  
_Those clever angelic fingers, stroking, caressing, carefully scraping off the itchy sheathes, delicately spreading and fluffing the new feathers_

_Oh fuck…._

“You are *very* tense Crowley, can’t be good for you at all” And the angel straddled his ass, sitting down on the backs of his thighs and the demon went fucking _crosseyed_ , emitting a whine that only dolphins and bats might hear as the angel ran firm hands up his ribs, down his hips and back again.  
  
“Put your wings away dearest” and with a moment to process they disappeared with a silent Fwomp  
  
_Oh god……fuck…god that feels amazing_

Crowley was pinned to the bed, being given an amazing back massage quite expertly by the angel, which would have been quite relaxing except for the friction on his aching cock, being pressed repeatedly into the mattress.  
  
His moans of pleasure had changed into ragged panting and swearing, and when the angel scored both hands with sharp fingertips down his ribs, he almost passed out from trying not to scream.

He couldn’t see the look of intense satisfaction on the angels face, who was not oblivious at all at the reaction he was having.  
  
At all….  


Aziraphale murmured “Are you alright?” and smiled at the helpless “mmrrfff” in reply.  
  
He shuffled a bit til he was sitting a bit further back on the demons legs, and leisurely traced fingertips along the top of the jeans slung low over the angular hips.  
  
_Crowley froze, holding his breath, every nerve focussed on what those delicately curious fingertips were doing_

_Or more importantly, what their intentions were….._

The fingers slowly torturously explored the landscape of his hips, demarcated by the now impossibly intrusive waistline of his jeans, he whimpered

_Please, oh please don’t play with me, don’t tease angel, don’t leave me wanting and needing yo, not like this_

When a hot tongue dipped and laved first one divot and then the other over his spine, he gave up any pretence of control and literally begged

“oh god, please, please, god, don’t, don’t stop” and he groaned into another tongue assault on his spine, so it took a while for the angels quiet words to penetrate the haze of lust his brain was fogged with

“Tell me Crowley, what are the rules? When its too much, what do you say?’’  
“Too much”  
  
“And what will happen?”

“Back off and ask me what I need”

“And if you need it all to stop immediately?”

“Safeword, Hellfire”

“Excellent, is there anything you don’t want me to do?’ The answer surprised the angel “No poetry”

“Anything else?”

Panting with thwarted desire “Tell you if need to”

“Yes, use your words or tap out if you need to”

“Three times”

“Oh yes, lovely, shall we begin?”

Barely hanging on by a thread, Crowley hoarsely whispered “Don’t stop angel, don’t ever stop”


	16. Long Slow Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you say LONG SLOW BURN my delicious darlings? Punish me in the comments, I dare you :) I want to make this smut as delicious and as worthy of this story as possible.
> 
> This is a bit experimental, am telling the story from Aziraphales POV, but including the italic sections which are Crowleys viewpoint. Trying to tell the whole story.
> 
> I don't have a beta, this is all me, so feedback welcome.

Aziraphale pressed a hot lingering kiss into the carven hip bone “I have no intention of it, my darling, I’m going to worship you with my words, my hands, lips, until you are replete with how much I love you”

Crowley mustered some snark from god only knows where “Do your worst angel” and Azirphale loved him for it.  
  
“Oh no my darling demon, for you, only my very best”

************************************************

Nothing had prepared him for the sight of the demon, face down on the bed, begging him, literally to….. well….he suspected anything he liked at this point. It was both a powerful and humbling feeling, that Crowley would trust him to be so exposed.

The desperate want in the demons hoarse voice did…something.. to Aziraphale, he felt like his skin was too tight, clothes suddenly constricting, his breath beginning to rasp. When he finally succumbed to temptation, dipping to taste, it was all he could do to keep the tremor out of his voice when he laid out the terms of engagement.

Now, this gorgeous, delicious, suffering demon was all his….

Skin, he needed to feel it, hot friction against him, with an urgent tug he pulled off the turtleneck, bending he pressed a line of hot wet kisses up the spine of the helplessly writhing demon.  
  
Skin, suddenly afire with every nerve ending, the very air cool against sensitised surfaces, urgently begging to be touched, hungry, needing. Bracing himself on one arm, he stroked, taking his time, discovering the demon with only his fingertips, marvelling at how responsive he was to the slightest touch.  
  
How was it possible that these finite bodies could suddenly be filled beyond capacity, beyond comprehension with so much emotion, feel such yearning, need, want…. _hunger_

How the breathless keen Crowley made when he scratched his nails down, tracing furrows of ribs, how it shot to the core of him, and _it demanded more_

*************************************************

_He is going to go supernova, implode upon himself until nothing is left but particles of light, blazing brightly until he burns out completely_

_By what arcane magic do these frail human bodies transform into trembling touch starved versions of themselves, racked with such urgent visceral need?_

_Skin which had once been a shell, a binding, something to be ignored in its intrinsic existence, now abruptly alive, sensate, defining his existence in terms he had no parallel for  
_

_To be touched ardently, fingertips cohering him out of sheer quintessence, one molecule at a time, as he dissolves alight in the flames of desire, want and need, until all he can do is feel_

_Then Aziraphale begins to speak, and it turns out, he can, in fact, fall even further apart..._

_*********************************************  
_Propping himself up on the pillows that were half crushed under Crowley, Aziraphale tenderly stroked his fingers up through the roots of the gorgeous scarlet hair, eliciting wordless moans as the demon arched into his touch. Again and again, scraping delicately with nails, baring the exquisite lines of neck, tendons drawn in stark relief

_He wanted to fist his hand in the glorious hair, baring that throat, so open, so vulnerable, begging to be claimed and marked_

Instead, he lets his words fall, each one a tiny blessing, a benediction, balm for the tiny broken pieces of his ravaged demon, a kiss to seal each one into the skin, fusing it in place, laying a groundwork for many more layers to come  
  
_it is a paean, an invocation, to fill the dark broken shadows of Crowley with love, hope and all the four letter words he can muster_

Starting behind the ear, he traces his way down the temple, along the bladedge jawline, outlining the tendons of a throat, finding the places that make the demon shiver, whimper and gasp where the neck meets the shoulder…  
  
“Oh my dear, my love, have you any idea how beautiful you are like this, open, trusting. You are so good for me, so good”

“I made you wait so long, so very long, it was not kind, I’m sorry my love, so very sorry. You gave and gave, and I did nothing but take, unforgiveable”

“I love you, I have loved you all along, even when I couldn’t say it, to myself, or to you, unfair to make you wait, want, hope. Can you feel it? Can you feel how much I want you?”

_Will you let me love you until you don’t hurt any longer?_

The angel sits back to fully appreciate the delicate architecture of the shoulders and back flexing under his touch

“So beautiful, my love, you are a work of art, Michelangelo himself would have fallen to his knees to worship you”

A husky reply from the depths of the pillows “Oh he did angel, several times….”

 _Well that does it_  
  
Urging Crowley to roll onto his back, Aziraphale starts his exploration all over again, but the kisses are harder, reaching that hollow in the collarbone he’s been dying to taste, sucking , claiming, only speaking the one four letter word he has capacity for

“Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine”

The bruise will last for several days, to both their satisfaction

*************************************************

_This is not poetry (though it really is), it’s a …prayer…  
_

_Being blessed by the unholy kisses of an angel, feeling the spell Aziraphale is crafting being bonded into his skin, a blend of love, hope, desire and kindness_

_He feels….differently inside, what were sharp cutting broken edges, smoothing, pitted holes filling in, reshaping, remaking him_

_Healing him…_  
  
_It astounds him, that Aziraphale can feel the same depth of want, can express how much he needs Crowley, he had always thought that his would be the deep hunger, so struggles to encompass that the angel just might love him just as intensely. It humbles him that the angel trusts him, is willingly so vulnerable to him._

_When you spend your life giving until you are always empty, expecting nothing else, to be graced with an unexpected banquet is overwhelming, undoes him, reduces his defences to nothing, so that when the angel chants “mine mine mine” he feels those words searing into his core_

_The spell is complete, now all that remains to see its effect_

_****************************************_  
  
Such a declaration deserves a response, Crowley shakes off his haze, lifting his hands to cradle the face of the angel, marking him in the most delicious way, blinking lazily he stares up into storm dark blue eyes, pupils blown wide open, daring everything he declares

“I’m yours Aziraphale, always only and ever yours, I love you angel, forever”

_The tableau of the two of them held for a long moment, Rodin would have wept for the glory of their eyes_

Naked now, the two of them came together with the slow inevitability of a tsunami, no force in this universe could have stopped it


	17. Love is a Four Letter Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for sticking with me this far, delicious readers, and I hope this long slow burn has been worth it. My little story is not over yet, but we are nearly there, I hope the ending will surprise and delight in unexpected ways.

_Sensation._

_Drowning in sensation, every molecule vibrating at an elevated frequency (he is pretty sure he could feel each individual strand of hair if he concentrates)  
_

_Concentrate.  
_

_Feel the lips meeting his skin, here, here, oooh fuck thats good, with a sucking nibble there_

_Lose wider awareness, focus on just that connection, letting the words wash over and through him (might have known the angel was a talker). Eyes closed to limit the sensory overload (he cannot yet process the sight of his angel, dishevelled, debauching him with his mouth)_

_Be present for the very existence of this kind loving touch, so long desired, played out in the predawn light of too many broken nights, naked and too alone in sweat soaked sheets_

_It should be enough._

_He realises this gift that the angel is giving him, a panacea to counteract the horrors they’ve both experienced  
_

_It should be enough._

_Its too much and not nearly enough_

He threads talonblade fingers through stardust hair, kissing its way too slowly, gently down his torso, tangles them tight for a moment 

“Too much angel” husky, hoarse words that break angelic litany 

With one last gentle kiss, the angel leans back and quietly asks “What do you need my dear?” 

Careconcerned storm blue eyes gaze into his, he closes his in escape “S’too nice, angel, too kind…” he shifts uneasily “I’m not…”

“Worthy of nice four letter words? I disagree, but you haven’t answered me” Aziraphales voice takes on a harder darker edge, a hint of command _it sounds oddly familiar_ “Tell me what you need Crowley” archaic power echoes in a distant undertone

Topaz eyes open in shock, staring at the angel whose posture hasn’t changed, yet is now looming over him, shivershock down his spine, licking his lips, throat dry “Nice….isn’t enough…I need more..” 

_Did those intent blue eyes darken even more?_ “More is also a four letter word. What kind of more?” casually, not breaking eye contact, he rakes his nails hard enough down the demons flank to leave red welts.

_He can’t help the involuntary groanflinch in response, eyes fluttering shut to savour_ “”Yessssss more”

“You want me to hurt you?” _he hisses as one nipple is flicked with a fingernail_ “How much?”

“Enough to make me feel real” 

_Eyes still shut he doesn’t see the bleak expression linger on the angels face for a long moment_

“Very well, lets try out some new four letter words… where was I” dipping his head to nip his way down one bladearch hip bone

“Pain….need…..want….lick….bite….”

_He gasps, writhing under these new sensations, nerves alight, begging “Yes, god yes, please, more”_

_Keening into a low moan as one long sharp fingernail scores its way slowly down his groin, tracing down his inner thigh, spinearching gasps, baring his neck, panting, fistclutching sheets_

“Fuck!”

Rendered suddenly breathless by a long slow wet tongue lick up his hard aching cock, he has no response to the angels next words “Oh yes, my very favourite four letter word”

_Concentrated sensation, nothing exists but the slick hotsuck, harder, faster, til he is disembodied, starcore beginning to collapse supernova, falling backwards, falling burning bright, screaming the angels name_

_He lands (this time) on crisp white cotton sheets, held in welcoming arms, to be kissed, held, til trembleshiver becomes calmwarmquiver_

Dazed, scatterbreathed he runs a contemplative thumb over sinful angelic lips “Aziraphale” he breathed out “That was….” He pulled the angel in, tasting his own salt musk “Thankyou”

Rather distractingly Aziraphale has tangled one hand in Crowleys hair, pulling his head back at a slightly awkward angle, sucknibbling down his carotid

“What for my dear?” that dark edge voice again, fist gathered in his hair tightens its grip

_How does he say “for seeing the horror of what I really am, and loving me anyway?” For caring enough listen, forgiving enough to hear, wise enough to see me, despite my many layers of shadow, through the cultivated sly evasive façade. For being generous enough to give me what I need, even though I know it hurts you._

Trembling, eyes closing, pleasureheat beginning to burn through him again “Understanding..”

He feels Aziraphale flinch a tiny amount, processing the subtext that only two beings who had known each other for millenia can silently share, but before he can address it, teeth scrape a fierce line down his throat, hand fisting even tighter in his hair. A pinch to one nipple has him arching, groaning, hips flexing.

Nails prick their way down his ribs, pinned by the fist in his hair, held down by the angels weight on his torso, he is hard and aching and slick, utter delicious torment 

“Please angel, oh god please, don’t stop……fuck, don’t ever stop”

_Love me Aziraphale, shine your light in all my broken shadowspaces, fill up the aching void inside me, make me whole again, make me real_

_Give me new memories, make me forget the old ones, give me a future I can hold on to, love me, hold me, help me become…_

Fingerslick inside him, pressing, stretching, that dark angelic voice “Open for me Crowley, I want to see how you need me”

He keens, grinding down, begging “Please, angel, please, oh god yes, fuck me, fill me up, make me ahhhh”

“Take it all Crowley, I know you can, I know you want it” he does because he has no choice, because his angel is right, he does want it, because _this_ _is the only thing that makes him feel real_

_Hands whiteknuckled gripping the bed frame, panting, gasping, begging “harder, oh god harder” and “yes, oh god, yes, oh so good” nails scraping over ribs, sweatslick bodies driving in urgent demand, hands bruising tight clenched on angular hips.  
_

_Power builds, sparks spitting glarewhitehot, stinging off fingertips, he can feel the rapture filling him, riding the crest up higher and higher, so close he can taste it_

_A sudden tug of pain at his scalp, the angel grabbing a fistful of hair, brokenly gasping “I can’t, god, so close” the hungry need in his voice enough to tip the demon over the edge, falling down into the white, taking his angel down with him, their names on each others lips  
_

He lands, face down in scattered pillows, his angel lying side on, both of them panting, twitching aftershocks rendering them temporarily immobile.  
  
Crowley summons enough energy to turn over, wrestle some pillows under his head, pulling Aziraphale into his arms, tucking the stardust hair against his shoulder. Soft slow kisses to a sweatslicked forehead, he cradled his angel tight, wrapping arms and legs around him.  
  
When his breathing steadied enough, he murmured “Thankyou, angel, that was quite……” he trailed off, momentarily wordless

Aziraphale turned his face up for a kiss, smiling against the demons lips, and said in a tone rather disgustingly smug “Yes it was rather”

_Crowley decides to let that one slide for the moment_

Instead he snugged the angel close, stroking his fingertips through the stardust hair “Ummm are you OK?”

A happy hum from the face nestled delightfully into the crook of his neck “I am, as you say, very OK

“How colloquial of you angel. But, are you sure? I mean…” Fuck he was picking up the angels annoying habit of trailing off mid sentence

“After care my dear, how thoughtful, but you don’t need to fret. I am happy if you are.”

He wasn’t so sure about that but it could wait, instead he had another question.  
  
“Angel?”

“Trying to sleep here dearest” grumpily but with love

“Where have you been hiding that ‘voice’?”

“Its what you sound like when your plants upset you, dear”

“Oh” _no wonder it sounded familiar_

A soft puff of breath on his neck was the reply, giving up, he closed his eyes and let sleep claim them both.  
  
***********************************************  
  
 _Hold me down and bring me peace again_  
 _Hold me under_  
 _Take me with you to the bitter end_  
 _Hold me under_  
  
 _Heavy my heart with your wish for survival_  
 _Tear me apart in the return_  
 _Swallow me whole, fill my lungs with revival_  
 _Quiet the chaos inside_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lyrics Out of the Fire by Digital Daggers


	18. Fear is Easy, Joy is Hard

They had had two good weeks, a last Indian summer of blue skies, warm days, calm settled weather, and the two of them loving each other.

But like the weather, it couldn’t last, and here he was, standing on a cliff in a storm like a bloody brooding Bronte herovillain, hair artistically blowing in the wind, grey stormclouds racking up, ozone tainted air heralding the building storm.

Earthbound stormcrow, freshly fledged wings too delicate to risk in these winds, chafing at his gravity induced restraint, wanting…needing to …..

_Was it too much to ask for some fucking peace?_

_For the pain to just…..stop?_

_To not hurt any longer?_

Pain was his bitch, Falling remade you in pain and fire, but it never truly leaves, pain, like an echo of a sigh, lingers in your shadows, the crevices of your bones.

You carry it always until it becomes so embedded, so intrinsically there, its as if it always was. Pain is your only memory.

_But this……_

_This brings him to his knees_

_Tearing at him with invisible teeth and claws_

_He has no defence_

_No recourse_

_No salvation_

_Except for what peace he can find with Aziraphale_

_But it doesn’t last…._

_********************************************_

I think I'm lost  
I think I'm broken  
It's not what I wanted  
The verdict won't change  
I've gone off the razor's edge  
Thought it would be different  
Was treading the water  
'Til it took me under

************************************************

Some days he barely feels sane, like his mind is fracturing, black spiderweb cracks tearing his brain apart _and he can feel the creeping tendrils in his brain…slowly oh so slowly taking over, taking control  
_

Other days he just hurts, soul deep aching tearing pulling him apart _and it hurts in every molecule of him_

Its worse than anything he suffered in Hell, if only because the angels touch brings blessed if brief respite.  
Crowley has never felt anything like this before, and he can feel it getting worse. The quiet moments of reprieve he gains with Aziraphale are getting shorter, and when the black pain comes back, it hurts more each time.  
  
Its tearing him apart agonisingly slowly, pulling him away from the angel, down somewhere he really doesn’t want to go, but like gravity, cannot resist the pull. For as long as they have been there, its been getting heavier and heavier.

  
Its killing him. Literally, he suspects.  
  
************************************************

I'm scared 'cause the past  
Keeps pulling me back  
Distorting the future  
It's holding me close  
It loves me the most  
It's tearing the sutures

************************************************

Try as he might, he cannot explain. Aziraphale is whole, still filled with divinity, cannot comprehend what it feels like to have it stripped and replaced with a wracking hollow void instead.

_He feels like he is Falling in slow motion again_

_Falling away from the one good thing in his life_

_Fucking Ineffable Plan_

_Fear is easy. Joy is hard_

_He was trying, so fucking hard to reach for it_

_*********************************************************  
_

It won't let me heal  
It tells us what's real  
There is no truth there  
My vision's gone black  
I'm scared 'cause the past  
Keeps pulling me back

********************************************************

Had anyone been watching they would have seen a scarlet haired black clad demon crumple to his hands and knees, lashed by rain and storm winds

No one would have heard the words choked out, the words he never uttered even once while in Hell, words whisked away by uncaring winds

_Please, make it stop, it hurts so much….please…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lyrics - Razors Edge by Digital Daggers


	19. Anathema To The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finally gets a clue, and Anathema rides to the rescue.....maybe?

Aziraphale can feel the pain, the bitter dark despair from Crowley, so strong his mouth feels coated with something sour. Something is wrong, very very wrong, and he is beginning to think he has made a terrible mistake.

Penning a hasty note, unlike his normal impeccable calligraphy, leaving it on the kitchen counter

 _Gone to London, need to do some research, might be a few days._  
  
A  
  
Remembering to don his new coat, he whisks himself back to the bookshop in London.  
  
******************************************  
  
Fortunately the books he dug out for his last batch of research are still on the shelf he left them stacked on, grabbing a fresh pad of paper, his favourite fountain pen, he sits and begins to transcribe the events of the past few months, beginning with the night of the storm.

As the room begins to dim into sunset, the angel absentmindedly turns on the lamps, a bottle of his ‘thinking’ Bordeaux and a glass appearing in one of the few uncluttered spaces on the desk.  
  
_While the angel sips at the rich red wine, he thinks, replaying back various scenes in his head. Trying to view Crowley through a different lens, assessing, analysing._  


_One memory keeps playing on repeat……  
  
  
_He is lying, half propped up against a pile of pillows, with a sated, drowsing Crowley snuggled in his lap. Stroking his fingers through the scarlet hair, down to the scalp, again and again _because his demon so loved to be petted this way_ Aziraphale smiled

“You look so peaceful my dear

“S’nice…..doesn’t hurt”

“I should hope not” with a slightly offended tone but a light caress down one cheekbone

The demon turns his face up into the caress with a sigh “Nah, meant I don’t hurt” he wriggles down into an even more boneless state “When we’re together, like this, s’nice, pain goes away for a while”

“M’head stops hurting”

Aziraphale had assumed that the pain the demon was referring to was the burden he carried from Falling. _If he concentrated on that memory, he could feel it again, himself and shuddered_

Returning to himself, wineglass clutched in one shaking hand, he whispers to himself “What did I miss? What went wrong?”

He starts with all the books he got out to research the Claiming Ritual, some three months earlier, freshens his wine glass, adjusts his spectacles, settles down, and begins to read, while the page of notes grows steadily higher.  
  
Such is his immersion in the task, dawn rolls its rosy light over the shop as the city wakes around him, oblivious, muttering, tearing notepaper into bookmarks, copying out useful sentences and passages, he works with the intent academic focus of an experienced researcher.  
  
A loud banging on the shop door startles him into, dropping a large inkblot in the middle of his notes.

Huffing in indignation at the interruption he calls out “We are closed!!”  
  
Unexpectedly the mail slot bangs open and an unexpected American female voice demands “Let me in Aziraphale”

“Anathema? What? Why?”

“I have pastries. Will you let me in now?”

He is six feet from the door when the lock unclicks, and the bell tinkles merrily as his visitor pushes the door open, pausing for a startled look at the shop, before handing the angel an enticingly large bag from one of the better local bakeries, dropping her overnight bag on the floor.  
  
“Breakfast, and hopefully coffee? I had to get the early train”

Bustling the witch into the shop, he sits her down on Crowleys usual lounging sofa, miracles up a strong cup of coffee, sets about making himself a bracing cup of tea.  
  
“Anathema, not that is isn’t a delightful surprise, dear girl, by why are you here?”

She wandered into the nook, spying the sugar, and doctored her very strong black coffee to palatable and stared at the angel, over the steaming cup

“You called me here? I felt nothing else since about midnight so I got on the first train. What happened Aziraphale?”  
  
_Oh the rising panic he had begun to feel when he realised how far out of his depth he might be……_  


Tea ready, he ushered her back to the sofa “Oh my dear, I am so sorry, but very glad you are here. Well…. It’s a bit of a long story….”

***************************************************  
  
It was indeed, a very long story. They ended up going out for lunch, bringing back a second bag of bakery treats on the way, which ended up as merely the memory of crumbs, as the anxious angel, paced, talked and ate his way through his feelings.  
  
They had duelled, pointedly, over his initial refusal to keep some of the story back, shame painting his face red in remembrance of his own failings.  
  
Anathema was hungry, it was well past dinnertime, and she was fed up with the stuffy angels dancing around the subjects he didn’t want to talk about, and she stood abruptly “Aziraphale, I got up at dawn to come here to HELP you, which you sound in desperate need of. But….” She fixed him with a steely glare and trickled a bit of power into it “Either tell me everything now, or I’m leaving.”

She huffed a breath “And don’t pout your gay boyfriend eyes at me either, won’t work. Its *because* of him that we are here…..remember?”

The soft querying tone she put on the last word cut through all of Aziraphales defences, he crumbled, with a gasp that could have been a sob, and Anathema took a seat next to him, taking one trembling hand in hers.

“Come on, I’m starving. Lets take a break, have a nice dinner, hmm?"

Nodding the angel wearily stood, looking lost “Where did I put my jacket?”

Anathema spotted it laid out across books on a side table, collecting it she held it up for the angel to don “Very classy look on you by the way, I hope you will tell me all about that too?”  
  
_With a sideways glance at the witch who was managing him all too deftly, he took the opening she offered, with tones of mock outrage, started telling her about their day at Saville Row_

  
**********************************************  
  
Across the country, a demon crawls whimpering into their cold lonely bed, pressing his face to the angels pillow, the smell of sunshine, cinnamon and vanilla soothing him enough that he falls into a restless troubled sleep.  
  
********************************************

Anathema pushes away the now scraped clean plate of chocolate gateaux with a mingled sigh of satisfaction and frustration.  
  
“OK, let me get this straight, you two managed to accidentally bind yourselves in an ancient arcane ritual, that should make you ….soulmates….for want of a better term. Except you think its gone wrong on the demon side of things, and its harming Crowley instead?”

Aziraphale sucked on his lips meditatively for a moment “That’s a very brief but accurate summary, yes.”

“And your evidence is, that everytime you emotionally bond” she does the double finger thingy around bond “he is more stable and happier, but you can’t maintain it, and its getting worse”

“He is getting worse, my dear, I can feel him slipping away from me”

She sits back, drains the last of her champagne “It…feels like the spell isn’t complete, that it needs a final closing step. Something to properly define whatever it is you did by accident?”

The angel nurses the last of his champagne, thinking for a long moment. He raises worried blue eyes to her dark ones, but he looks steadier “My dear, that makes perfect sense, but what little I could find on the Claiming Ritual was sparse at best. Its an extremely rare event and unlikely to have been written about in human memory” he frowned “If only I had access to the Library in Heaven”

_Anathema’s spidey sense is tingling though, like when she was looking for Adam but couldn’t see him because he wasn’t what she was expecting to find_

She smiled at the angel “Surely you aren’t going to deny me the pleasure of exploring your library of treasures……?”

With a sigh, the angel stood “Quite my dear, quite”. She was surprised when he flourished a rather exotic looking credit card to pay for dinner, made an arm for her, and they ventured back to the shop.

  
Anathema started with the books Aziraphale had originally used, reading until she fell asleep on the surprisingly comfortable sofa (Crowleys influence over the years of lounging on it the angel strongly suspected)

Aziraphale tucked a couple of soft warm blankets over the sleeping witch, removing her reading glasses gently, turning the lamps off, until only his desk was lit, scattered with desperately scribbled notes, wine turning stale in the glass, fingers inkstained.

Exhausted, strung wire tight with anxiety, an ever increasing urgency scraping his nerves _running out of time_ he folded his head down on his arms, and slept.  
  
_His dreams were dark broken scatterings of horror, pain, screaming_

 _When he woke, shaking, breathless in the cold hour before dawn, he knew they weren’t his dreams…._  
  
  
"Oh Crowley my dearest" he breathes "Hold on my dear, just a little longer"


	20. Witching For The Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema gets her witch on, but will it be in time?

On the Devon coast, urgent weather reports go out to all coastal areas, a predicted storm is unexpectedly building up to be much bigger than initially forecast, it has the potential to be dangerous, high winds, destructive hungry sea waves.  


The demon responsible for the shift in the storms behaviour, stands idly in the kitchen doorway, bottle of whiskey clutched in one white fingered grip. His eyes are dark, empty and hollow, power sizzles out of him in sparking hissing trickles.

Black churning clouds hungrily feed on the arcane fuel, Crowley is lost, gone deep down inside his memories, where all the sick fury is eating him alive.  
  
_He cannot die but he can be discorporated by a direct lightning strike._

_But will Hell give him back again if that happens?_

_*********************************************_  
  
Anathema had woken early, scrubbing tired eyes, looking blearily around the bookshop, illuminated by weak morning light. Rising to look for the facilities to freshen up, she sees the slumped form of the angel asleep at his desk.

_Oh angel_

Finding the bathroom freshly stocked with supplies, she takes the open invitation, showers, thankful for the fresh change of clothes packed yesterday.  
  
She managed to sneak out in search of more breakfast pastries, and a mocha, bringing back a stash for the angel who stirred at the sound of the shop bell, startling awake, blinking dazedly at her murmuring “Crowley?”

_Her heart broke at the absolutely shattered way he said the demons name_

“Almost as good, fresh danishes and croissants”  
  
With a blink, the angel reassembled himself to his usual presentation _but nothing could remove the desolation from his eyes_ “Oh my dearest girl, thankyou”  
  
She winked at him cheekily on the way past to the kitchen nook “You are assuming I’m going to share?” 

A wavering smile was her reward, and they bickered like old friends over the custard danish, but the angel had little appetite, his concentration scattered.  
  
Reaching forward, pressing a hand to his as they worried against each other fretfully “Aziraphale?”

Dark haunted blue eyes find hers “Somethings wrong….He’s….doing something..”

“Right, show me the arcane books then”  
  
**********************************************  
  
Anathema sighed, she had combed all the original source material that Aziraphale had used, to no avail. Carefully made her way through the rather frightening arcane selection the angel had _books held down by_ _chains blessed with holy water no less!!_

Nothing, not a scrap of anything useful, and the angel was tearing himself apart with whatever he could feel Crowley was up to.  
  
_Right, time to get witchy!_  
  
“Aziraphale, I want to do a dowsing spell, do you mind if I use chalk on the floor?”

He startled out of his fretting “Oh my dear, whatever you need” hands fluttering nervously “Do you have all the supplies you need?”

“Chalk, 4 white new candles and my pendulum, admittedly they are tealight candles, but they get the job done”

Glancing at the distracted angel, she finds a clear spot on the floor, kneels down, braces with one hand and begins to scribe her circle.  
  
**********************************************  
  
_The storm builds, heavier clouds scudding black, towering over the horizon, lightning flashing purplewhite, dancing along the top edges._  
  
“Ssssssoooon” hisses the demon “Nearly there” dissonant harmonies layering in his voice, as he builds power to punch into the storm, he wants to make sure this *works*

_*********************************************_  
Anathema chants under her breath, taking a chance to modify the spell on the fly, she repeats it three times, finishing with a firm

“So Mote It Be”

All four candles extinguish their flames, releasing the smell of hot wax into the air, with a deep breath, she closes her eyes, holds up the pendulum and steps forward out of the circle, allowing herself to be guided by its directions.  
  
Carefully feeling her way, the bookshop has stacks of books piled treacherously on the floor, left outstretched, right hand carefully circling the pendulum, mind held blank, she opens her senses up.  
  
_something over here, this way, oops, edge around that pile of books, ouch shelf to the shins, closer, closer…_

With a wordless cry, she trips over an unexpected obstacle, falls forward, eyes snapping open in time to catch herself from falling face forward into a book case. But the shelf gives way under her weight, spilling books of ancient prophecy onto the floor.  
  
The witch tumbles sideways with an Ooof, rolling into the fall, but winded, shocked, she lay there. One last item slid off the shelf, delivering the coup-de-gras by landing on her chest, and she gave up, collapsing into a giggling heap on the floor.

“Oh my dear, are you alright?” the angel hurried across the store, and the sight of him staring concernedly down set her off in a fresh round of giggles.  
  
“Yes well it’s a bit undignified really, up you get”

He put aside the folio he had lifted off her chest, and gave the giggling witch a hand up, carefully brushing her down, waiting til she gained her composure  
  
“Where’s the pamphlet thing that fell on me?” she demanded suddenly and the angel picked it up from the shelf he had put it on  
  
“This one?”

“Yes! What is it?” and she brandished the folio, a dozen handmade pages, sewn together down the middle, carefully scribed in middle English

“Oh its nonsense really, a collection of random scribblings from a monk in the 14th century. Bit mad I suspect”

She riffles it open under her thumb (ignoring the outraged inhale from the angel) and glances up “Can you translate it?”

“Of course, but check the back, I might have put some notes there”

A handful of gorgeously calligraphed notepapers fell out on the floor, swearing under her breath, she bent to collect them.

As she reached for the last one, the angel moaned, a painful frightened sound  
  
“Oh no, oh please don’t Crowley, oh no no no”

******************************************  
  
_“Finally” hissed the demon, judging the storm now at peak, he savoured the last of the Talisker straight from the bottle, then barefoot, strode out into the metallic charged air, launched, black wings almost indistinguishable from the clouds._

_“I’m coming, try and fucking sssssstop me”_

********************************************  
Anathema stared at the copperplate writing on the last paper she had picked up, trying to get her brain into gear to read it (rather ornate and heavy on the flourishes)

_Do not dally for the dark will consume thee_

_Wings such arcane sigils scribe_

_Let the sky shape your desires_

_Dance Bright One, lead thy love_

_Bind thyselves in Joy_

_Live freely as one_

Hand shaking she held the scrap out to the angel “Aziraphale, you need to read this”

The traumatised angel had retreated to his desk, shaking white and trembling, she had to shake his shoulder a couple of times to bring him back

“Aziraphale, Aziraphale” finally urgently, “ANGEL!”

He blinked dazedly up at her, he said brokenly “Yes my dear?” _oh how her heart clenched at the sight of him_

She brandished the note and said clearly enunciating each word “You. Need. To. Read. This”

Hand trembling he took it from her, and doubtfully read it. Read it again, and a third time.  
  
Aziraphale looked up at her, the joy and delight on his face was near blinding, and he was *glowing*  
  
“Oh you perfect perfect witch, thankyou” He stood, and tenderly laid a kiss like a blessing on her forehead.

He stepped back, murmured “Oh my love, I’m coming, hold on”

With a soundless ‘pop’ the angel disappeared.  
  
Breathless, Anathema sank down into the office chair, legs suddenly wobbly. She felt full of light, and grace, and hope, lightheaded and giddy, she giggled and punched a fist into the air  
  
“Witching For The Win, YES!”


	21. More Kissing Less Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally Finally!! This chapter was the one in my head that started this all!

He miracles himself to their patch of sand on the beach, stumbles under the unexpected onslaught of the storm winds, skin twitching under the sting of dark arcane magic, ozone coating the back of his throat

“Oh no, not again” staring up into the storm, looking in vain for the black wings he knows must be up there.  
  
A flash of lighting nearly blinds him, but also backlights the demon, up so far away, frighteningly close to the levin bolts arcing in the sky

Shocked, he realises what Crowleys intentions are, and something dark and powerful shifts across his face, darkens those angelic blue eyes “Fuck, no, you do *not* die today”

 _Not if I have anything to do with it  
  
_Shaking out his wings, he launches into the sky, using his own arcane magic to propel him up higher and higher, ignoring the howling winds. Its not something he can maintain for long, but hopefully just long enough.  
  
_Pursuit is not an option, Crowley is faster and more agile, and it will just drive him further away. Instead, Aziraphale offers himself as bait, presents himself as a temptation._  
  
If Crowley is as far gone as he suspects, he is more likely to attack, to defend his skies. Aziraphale just needs to get within reach, and hope this crazy half assed plan based on the mad ravings of a centuries dead monk found accidentally by a witch can actually work.  
  
Had anyone been brave or stupid enough to be standing on a treacherous cliff edge, being battered by storm winds, lashed with howling rain, this is what they would have seen:

 _Poisonous purpleblack clouds, churning, turning the sky to a cinematic version of hell, slashed by sickly actintic lightning, thunder slamming in long echoing rolls across the sky. Nature at her most raw, violent, given a hellish shove into overdrive._  
  
Its breathtakingly terrifying, yet there is one element that’s out of place. A pair of long white wings spiral up into the middle of the tempest, with careful grace, they stake a claim on the air.  
  
Long looping swerves, spiralling turns, dips, dives, it’s a graceful temptation, an invitation.  
  
A defiance of the storm and everything it stands for.  
  
Slowly the pattern the white wings are shaping widens, gets higher, more elaborate

_It’s a message_

_Come, find me, come_

_Stop me if you can…._

_If our brave onlooker is still there, they might see midnight black wings arrest in their quest for release, attention caught by the interloper in the air below them._  
  
Dashing the rain from their eyes, they might see the figure, dark wings closed tightly, plummeting down, to flare open at the last moment

_Yet as the dark one falls, the bright one suddenly begins to climb, spiralling up and up, now carving taunting shapes in the sky,_

_where they were inviting, now they are challenging_

_Come….stop me if you can…_

_They are up high now, almost beyond the range of mortal eyes, so all that could be seen is the light flashing of wings as they arc and twist_

_It’s an aerial duel, fought by two masters of their craft_

_Slowly, oh so slowly, the pace changes, the bright wings are leading the way,_

_They spiral up even higher, and the movement changes from a duel  
_

_Instead they dance._

_White wings carve complicated shapes in the sky, and the dark wings flow and shape around them, like scroll work on medieval scriptures_

_Power builds between them as they climb higher and higher_

_Closer and closer they circle, energy building as the tension increases_

_The air crackles, its hard to breathe_

_For a moment they hold impossibly still, wings so close you cannot see any distance between them_

_Bound together by whatever tenebrous strands hold them_

_They fall._

_From so very high up, it almost seems in slow motion_

_As they fall, they begin to glow, a white so bright its blue_

_Faster faster towards the uncaring sea they fall_

_Spinning now, tighter, glowing brighter til the brightness expands_

_Its too fast, too high, surely nothing on this earth could survive it_

_With a massive soundless explosion, the falling dancers hit the surface of the sea, light expanding leaving nothing but the tossing waves behind_

_****************************************_

_The storm, deprived of its otherworldly impetus spills itself out over the ocean, our onlooker breathing a sigh of relief, shaken and uncertain_

_****************************************_  
The abrupt transition from falling to solid ground startles both of them, Crowley stumbles, catching himself against Aziraphales shoulder, and the implications of what he is seeing sink in

“Oh shit, angel” he looks around at the glowing white empty expanse of nothing that they are standing on, it looks oddly familiar “Are we in Heaven?”

His attention is caught by his right hand being firmly clasped in one angelic one, with a not subtle at all cough “Dearest” the strangled urgent tone brings him back around.

“Oh, its You” he says breezily, but the hand clasped in the angels is sweating, clenched. Aziraphale lightly caresses the back of his hand with a thumb, saying far more politely

“Umm Hello, I think, could you possibly, explain?”

God is standing before them, Her corporeal likeness draped in glowing white fabric, with a low laugh She shakes back Her hood, steps forward, spreads hands wide in invitation. With a wary glance at each other, they step forward, offering their free hands up to be clasped, a holy kiss placed on the back of each hand before being mercifully released.  
  
Her voice is kind, backed by faint choral harmonies, kindness and joy on Her face as She smiles at them

“Oh my dearest children, how happy I am to see you like this”

Crowley dearly wants to reply “Makes one of you” but a squeeze on their joined hands quells the urge, and instead, rolling a shoulder in casual enquiry

“Like what, exactly?”

She beamed, and he feels Her holy light fill up all the empty spaces inside him, like it used to, and the absence of pain nearly bought him to his knees, it doesn’t stop till he is full to overflowing.  
  
“Together Crowley, like you were always meant to be”

Aziraphale sounds a little put out “Meant to be?”

She frowned at them “Yes dear, but why did it take you so very long?”

Crowley is rendered speechless by what is happening inside him, and Aziraphale by the implications of what She just said, all they can do is exchange one wild eyed glance

“Nevermind the past, let us address the future instead. First, your dominion on the earthly plane, shepherding the human flock”

Crowley ground out between clenched teeth “Retired, we have retired from the angel and demon business”

Aziraphale tugs gently on his hand “But we would like to stay on Earth, as we are, we like it there”

“Of course dear, the two of you were made for Earth” She frowned delicately at Crowley “But you no longer want to shepherd the human flock?”

 _Oh fuck seriously?_ “What we did wasn’t really tending a flock as such” he shrugged “They’ve moved way beyond us anyway” his turn to squeeze an angelic hand  
  
Aziraphale chimed in warily “We could….help out…. In special circumstances “  
  
“Very unique never happen before or ever again world is going to end circumstances” ground out Crowley

“But…” the angel made his very best puppy dog eyes at the Lord “After 6 millenia of service, perhaps we have earned our just reward?”

“My children, nothing would make me happier” and the celestial being clapped Her hands once, and the sound echoed across all dimensions, as does Her voice:

“Hear Me, as I bless this union between Aziraphale, once Principality, and Crowley, once Fallen. They have bound themselves by Holy Ritual, which none may tear usunder. No being nor any weapon may ever harm thee, and I grant thee both right of uncontested access to all Celestial planes and right of dominion within the earthly plane, for all eternity, as thee so desire.”  
  
“Also I grant thee both the Right, Power and Authority to advocate for the human flock should circumstances demand it.” _Crowley was almost certain She had winked at him when she said circumstances_

She stepped forward “Clasp your hands my children” and they turned to face each other, holding hands together as the Lord placed Her hands on top of theirs

“What say you, oh my dearest children”

Stunned, they stared at each other, until Crowley cracked a lazy smile and in High Enochian clearly proclaimed  
  
“Ani leh-dodee veh-dodee lee"

The joy radiating from Aziraphales face was near blinding as he repeated the words, in High Enochian and then again in English

“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine”

With a kiss to their brows, She murmured “Go Forth In Peace and Love my children, you are free to enjoy your retirement”  
  
****************************************************

A sudden lurch, and they are standing, hands still clasped, on their patch of sand on the beach, storm washed skies a pale blue as a watery sun shone bravely down upon them.  
  
All this is unnoticed, as they step forward, one hand raised to stroke scarlet locks back, another hand cradling blond curls, sealing their future with one searing endless kiss.

_Anathema, who is still tidying up the mess in the bookshop, staggers as the impact rocks the celestial plane, and she smiles_

_Both Heaven and Hell, still reeling from the shock of the Lords words rolling through both their domains, quake at the power and the implications of what it means._  
  
Gabriel and Beelzebub quietly panic.

 _********************************************  
_“Holy Fuck, did that just happen?” Crowley is leaning heavily on the angel “I need to sit down”

The sand is dry and soft, and soon covered with a tartan picnic blanket, some pillows, a chill bottle of champagne and a pair of crystal flutes.

Aziraphale tucks some pillows under the demons head, before hastening to open the champagne, his hand is trembling and an unexpected clink as he picks up the bottle catches his attention.  
  
Wrapped around the ring finger of his left hand is a ring, the band is a dark iridescent metal, that feels oddly heavy, its cut in the pattern of a feather, and clasped in the middle is a solid round crimson red star ruby.  
  
Its beautiful.  
  
Pouring the champagne, he holds one flute, passing the other to Crowley who goes to reach with his left hand, and pauses.  
  
Wrapped around the ring finger of the demons left hand is a band of silvery gold, cut in the pattern of a feather, clasped around a solid round blue star sapphire.  
  
Silently the angel presents his for perusal, they clink their glasses, and both scull back the contents. Its been that kind of day, really. Even for a glass of Krug.  
  
“Crowley” ventures the angel tentatively “Are you alright?”  
  
“Oh angel” he breathes, reaching out a hand in invitation “I’ve never been better, let me show you…”

Cautiously Aziraphale takes the offered hand and waits, uncertain “Close your eyes angel” trusting, he does.  
  
_He is filled with light, warmth, glory, he is whole, unsundered, healed, blessedly free from pain, any pain, all pain_

_He is free….._

Aziraphale opens his eyes, shaken “Oh She healed you, oh my love” tears threaten when what seems like only a few moments before he was fighting to save his love.  
  
He is saved by the lazy sarcastic drawl from the demon lounging invitingly in front of him “Might have known you would cry at our wedding angel. How’bout you come down here and kiss your husband, hmmmm?”

He leans forward into the hungry embrace “Just kiss?”

“Well I haven’t decided where yet…”

“I’ve got some ideas”

“More kissing, less talking”

_Very little talking ensues for quite some time_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My personal HC is that after 6 million years together they DAMN WELL FUCKING DESERVE EACH OTHER UNCONTESTED and that God should hold up her end of the deal.
> 
> None of this turning human, losing powers and having a cruelly shortened time together, Oh No, they EARNED each other for as long as they damn well want. So this is me giving them the happy ending I want them to have.... kinda (the story continues in the next piece in the series which I am writing now)
> 
> Oh and I stayed up til 2.30am finishing the end of this, so you get it all in one go, cos Im lovely that way!


	22. The End of The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little vignette to round out the final act. While I was planning this, my brain farted, and there will be a follow up story that fills in some of the gaps around what happens after, as they settle into their new life.

Eventually they make it back to the manor house, up to the bedroom, finally they end up in the kitchen.

It had been a very long eventful day, and both of them felt the need for sustenance.  
  
Crowley reached for the plumpest strawberry from the basket that had miraculously joined them, bit into half of it, chewing he made the most extraordinary noise.  
  
Aziraphale was rummaging for more champagne, turned wide blue eyes back to the demon, who was sitting there holding half a strawberry, slowly chewing with a look of sublime pleasure on his face, and the noises he was making were not dissimilar to those heard in their bedroom, quite recently in fact.  
  
He grabbed two champagne bottles, elbowing the door shut, and stood to enjoy the show.  
  
Slowly, with very obvious enjoyment, the demon devoured the hapless strawberry, licking the juice off his fingers, eyes almost drugged with pleasure.

“Fuck that was good” he breathed out  
  
“Well if a simple strawberry can induce such a response, you better be willing to tip well when we got to the Ritz my dear”  
  
Blinking back out of the zone, Crowley frowned at him “You sounded frankly quite …. pornographic eating that poor strawberry” and the angel passed the basket over “Have another..."   
  
He didn’t bliss out quite so unexpectedly but it was a near thing “ So umm”   
  
“Looks like you have your sense of taste back again?”

“Mmmm”

“What else?”

***************************************  
  
As She pressed Her lips to his brow, he heard her voice in his mind “Oh Crowley, it was never meant to be so hard for you, my dear can you forgive me?”

_Of course he could, all he had ever wanted was hers in return_  
  
“Granted, for ever and always, let me heal your hurts, my most precious child.”  


A quick silent communication between them, asking exactly what his hurts were and what could be done about them  
  
“Don’t change what makes me…me…. please”  
  
***********************************  
  
He closed his eyes for an internal stocktake “Not sure exactly, hard to tell over the” and he waved a hand vaguely

“General amazing feeling of well being?”  
  
“Cheeky angel” and he squinted for a moment, reaching out a hand “Cmere”

“Always dearest” reaching to take the waiting hand  
  
Crowley closed his eyes and concentrated “Wow, I can feel you” About to make a pert response, the angel understood, closed his eye and mentally reached.  
  
He expanded his senses wider and wider, reaching his usual limits, he kept going, going and stopped, breathless that he still hadn’t hit the edges. Turning his concentration to the demon burning with a hot bright flame, red at the heart, flickering white power banked, with the promise of much more, with a squeak of surprise he dropped their connection, and opened his eyes in shock.  
  
Crowley smiled a very satisfied smirk “Yeah, we levelled up, like big time”

A memory flexed and the angel murmured “once Principality and once Fallen” he blinked, stunned by the realisation that they were both now Significant Powers, remembering what else had been said  
  
“We are untouchable” he breathed.

The look on the demons face was a delightful blend of evil satisfaction “I bet Gabriel is quite literally shitting himself right now”

_Had Gabriel ever sullied himself with gross matter, he certainly would have been_

“Oh Crowley, we must call Anathema immediately”

Puzzled he dragged his phone out, found her number, dialled her on speaker “Um hello?”

“Anathema my dearest, I just wanted to call and say thankyou, everything worked out perfectly”

“Oh Aziraphale I didn’t recognise the number, so pleased to hear it. So you are both…OK?”

Crowley drawled into the phone “God married us, and we are officially retired with holy sanction” his evil smirk carried across the ether “And the big guns to back it up if needed” he quirked an eyebrow at the angel, not yet clued in on this part of the story, but willing to play along.  
  
“Married, by God themselves, like in person” she sounded a little stunned

“Yep” with an added pop on the P

“Holy Fuck!” 

Crowleys voice was oozing smug “Oh yes that too” but an angelic hand restrained him tormenting the poor woman further.  
  
She rallied “So when are you going to have the reception then?”

Two recently married throats swallowed “Reception, dear girl, what do you mean?”

“Well you have to let us all celebrate with you, we can have it at the event center outside Tadfield….”

“Get back to you on that” and Crowley cut the call.  
  
He reached for another strawberry when they were both startled by a knock at the door. No one local was likely to visit, so the demon strode over, and opened it carefully.  
  
The International Express man smiled at them “Oh hello chaps, nice to see you again, lovely place you have here, got two parcels for you to sign for.”

He proffered two slim envelope sized parcels and a clipboard with biro slid under the clamp. Crowley silently signed, gave the delivery man a nod and closed the door.  
  
Walking back to the table, he handed one to the angel, hefted the one his hand thoughtfully “Missives from Heaven and Hell?”

Aziraphale frowned at his “Almost certainly. Should we open them?”

Decisively the demon grabbed the one in the angels hand, and tossed both of them in a drawer.  
  
“Fuck no, we are enjoying our honeymoon, let them fucking stew” circling round he wrapped himself around Aziraphale   
  
“Take me to bed, and feed me delicious morsels” he growled

“Oh darling, I have so many things for you to taste”

“Hope so, m’starving, might just have to eat you” he licked his lips saying very slowly “all up”

With a blink they are back in the bedroom, Aziraphale pushes him backwards on to the bed, climbing over him, latching onto his favourite spot under the demons jaw, the one that makes him whimper so deliciously

“Oh I’m counting on it”  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say THANKYOU to all my readers who stuck with this story, cos it was brutal hard going for a long while, and I hope I gave you the ending that I feel our two Ineffable Idiots deserve.
> 
> Your comments and support have been much appreciated, and I am going to write a bit more about their life going on after this, and the first chapter will be a wedding!


End file.
